


I'm not excited (but should I be?)

by sigh_no_more



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Depictions of Bullying, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:42:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigh_no_more/pseuds/sigh_no_more
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras's high school reunion is the last place on earth he wants to be. But it's just one weekend, and then he never has to see these people again. Or at least that's the plan.</p><p>Grantaire can't believe that people still for some reason think he's cool, even all these years later. Of course, the one person he actually wants to talk to at the reunion apparently still hasn't forgiven him for the Incident. </p><p>High school reunion AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Largely inspired by [ tell-themstories's](http://tell-themstories.tumblr.com/) brilliant [ headcanon](http://tell-themstories.tumblr.com/post/72206365842/besanii-tell-themstories-so-ive-been).

**2014**

 

One weekend, Enjolras told himself. It was only one weekend. He could get through this. He was starting to regret the self-inflicted ‘no alcohol’ policy he had imposed on himself for what was going to be one of the worst experiences of his life. (Including several night long stints in jail, or the time he had been in the hospital for a month after a rally gone wrong.) The only thing that was going to get him through the weekend with his sanity intact was currently flirting with the concierge.

  
“Courfeyrac,” he said impatiently. He wanted them to go their room as soon as possible. The longer they lingered in the lobby, the greater the likelihood that he might have to talk to someone.

Courfeyrac was not terribly bothered by Enjolras’s plight. He held up a finger, before turning his attention back to the girl, leaning against the counter, and saying something that made them both laugh. Enjolras huffed, but whipped out his phone. If Courfeyrac was not going to be helpful, then he would call someone who might be.

He had no sooner clicked on Combeferre's name when he felt the phone being snatched out of his hands. Courfeyrac tsked as he stowed the phone into his pocket. 

"We promised not to call him this weekend," Courfeyrac chided. 

"I know but-"

"No buts. We are two grown men. We can deal with things without running to Combeferre for one weekend."

Enjolras scowled. "You're supposed to be keeping me company."

"You're so needy," Courfeyrac slung his arm around Enjolras's shoulder. "I was just upgrading our room."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Courfeyrac whipped out their keycards with a flourish. "We now have a view of the ocean."

Enjolras didn’t care what the view was, as long as they had a room he could hole himself up in. But Courfeyrac looked so damn pleased with himself, so he accepted one of his cards with the best smile he could muster. “Alright. Let’s go check it out.”

Courfeyrac’s flirting had paid off- their room was gorgeous. Even Enjolras who desperately did not want to be there could appreciate it. At least he would have a comfortable place to hole up in for the majority of the weekend. It had two cozy looking beds, a ridiculously nice bathroom and, as promised, a spectacular view of the beach. Courfeyrac made himself comfortable, tossing his large suitcase onto one of the beds. The suitcase was far larger than it had to be, but then again, Courfeyrac didn’t really understand the concept of packing light. He then opened the mini fridge and took out a tiny bottle of overpriced vodka, and flopped onto his bed.

“Want some?” he gestured to the fridge. "It might help you relax."

Enjolras shook his head. He drank rarely and had a low alcohol tolerance; he was all about control. An occasional drink around the holidays or at a friend's birthday was okay, but this weekend, he needed to be completely aware of and able to control his actions. He didn't want to make an idiot out of himself because he drank too much, no matter how tempting spending the weekend in an alcohol induced haze sounded at the moment.

Courfeyrac was watching him, so Enjolras gave him a smile. 

"I'm fine."

It would have worked on most people. But Courfeyrac scooted over and patted the empty space next to him. Enjolras huffed. He was twenty seven years old. He shouldn't need to cuddle to get a hold on his nerves.  Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, Enjolras's resistance not entirely unexpected.  

"Please? I'm cold," Courfeyrac said. It was a lie, and they both knew it, but it got Enjolras to cross the room and curl up next to him. He closed his eyes as Courfeyrac wrapped one arm around him. 

"I think," he said, stroking Enjolras's hair with his free hand, "That it's great you came. But if you get too uncomfortable, we can always pack up and leave early."

"We're not leaving early."

It was Courfeyrac's turn to huff in exasperation. "It's not quitting, Enjolras. It's avoiding unnecessary discomfort. You don't have to turn everything into a fight."

Enjolras remained silent. 

"Well, if it gets too uncomfortable, we can always call Bahorel."

Enjolras finally opened his eyes to peek up at Courfeyrac. "He would love that."

Courfeyrac sniggered. "He looked like a kicked puppy when we said he couldn't come."

When he heard Enjolras was going to go to his dreaded high school reunion, Bahorel had offered to accompany Enjolras, and seemed especially eager to ‘meet up those douchenerds and kick their asses’. Enjolras politely declined this offer, and then was promptly kidnapped by Bahorel for a shopping expedition.

_“If I can't talk with those assholes-"_

_"Beating people up isn't talking."_

_"If I can't talk with those assholes, I will make sure_ you _hands down win the ‘shit he got hot’ competition,” Bahorel had continued firmly._

_“The what?”_

_“The ‘fuck why were we mean to_ _that sexy motherfucker’ contest. Also known as the ‘day-um son’ award.”_

“I don’t think any of those are real things.”

“You bet your cute little ass they’re all real things. Real things that you are going to win.”

Enjolras had not intended to actually wear any of the clothes they bought, but Bahorel had ruthlessly ripped off the price tags so he couldn't return anything, then enlisted Courfeyrac and Combeferre's help in hiding the rest of Enjolras’s clothes. Enjolras was baffled at Combeferre's involvement (Courfeyrac's was almost a given), but Combeferre had solemnly told him that thanks to Bahorel, he too had won the 'shit he got hot' competition, and despite the shallowness of it, it was a surprisingly good feeling. 

"It almost erased four years of late childhood trauma," he had said smugly. 

Enjolras wished Combeferre was there with them. He was grateful for Courfeyrac, but he functioned better with both of his best friends. But Combeferre was giving a presentation at his medical conference. He had offered to cancel, but Enjolras and Courfeyrac had insisted he go, and even sworn not to call and disturb him for the entire weekend. 

"Can we just stay here for tonight?" Enjolras asked. 

"Nope," Courfeyrac said, slowly sitting up. "There’s a cocktail party that I absolutely refuse to miss. And anyway, it's the first big event. Mr. Myriel might be there."

Enjolas groaned, but he too sat up. The only reason he was at this awful, quaint little beachside hotel was because he wanted to see his old principal. 

Mr. Myriel was universally loved by his former students. He had joined the Musain School Enjolras's freshman year and so there had been a special bond between him and Enjolras's class. He was finally retiring this year, so someone decided to turn the class reunion into a huge weekend long event in honor of Mr. Myriel. Enjolras didn't like many of his old teachers. Or any of them. Or his old classmates. Except Mr. Myriel.

 

**2002**

 

Enjolras was seated in front of the principal's office. This in itself wasn't an unusual circumstance- he spent almost as much time getting disciplined as he did in actual class. But it was the first day of school, and he hadn't actually done anything. Yet. 

Okay, so he was planning on staging a sit in at lunch to protest the hike in costs that made it more difficult for low-income students to afford. But no one knew about it. Because he hadn't told anyone. Because he had no friends. 

The point was, he resented being there, because if he was going to be punished for causing trouble, he wanted to actually cause trouble first. 

"Mr. Enjolras," Mr. Myriel held open the door. "Step into my office."

He strode in behind Mr. Myriel and sat in the empty chair in front of the desk. 

Mr. Myriel also sat down, and surveyed Enjolras, looking pensive. 

"I haven't done anything," Enjolras blurted out. The unspoken 'yet' hung in the air. He wasn't willing to sit there and take whatever punishment was about to be doled out. Not without a fight. 

"No, you haven't," Mr. Myriel agreed. "You’re just starting your junior year here, and you haven't done anything. No sports, no clubs. Your grades aren't as high as I know they could be. So I agree, Mr. Enjolras. You haven't done anything."

Enjolras blinked. This was not the conversation he expected to be having. He recovered quickly. 

"Are you going to tell me I should apply myself?" he sneered. 

"No," Mr. Myriel said, surprising him again. "I was going to ask you what you want."

"What do I want?"

"Yes, Enjolras. What do you want? Junior year is when you have to really stop and think about what you want to do with your life. Do you want to go to college? Do you want to go to trade school? Do you want to take a year off after you graduate? What do you want?"

Enjolras was used to adults telling him what they wanted. They wanted him to work harder, they wanted him to behave. Mostly they wanted him to shut up. 

"Stuff."

"Stuff?" 

"Stuff," Enjolras snapped. It wasn't like anyone listened to him when he told them what he wanted anyway. 

"Have you considered going to college?"

Enjolras sullenly didn't answer. Of course he had thought about it. His parents had made it clear they expected him to go to college- and a good one. His father had gone to Harvard, and his mother had gone to Brown. 

"Do you know what I see?" Mr. Myriel said. "I see a bright, passionate young man who can change the world. He just needs to figure out how."

No one except Enjolras's parents ever thought he would amount to anything. 

“Now you’re going to tell me that I need to stop protesting and arguing with people,” Enjolras said. That was the real reason Mr. Myriel called him in there- he was going to try and shut Enjolras up by disguising admonishment as concern.

“I was going to say we need to figure out how to get people to listen to you.”

And okay, he had a point. Enjolras had argued so much and so aggressively with his peers and teachers that they rolled their eyes almost every time he opened his mouth.

“I think you should join the debate team.”

 

**2014**

 

Mr. Myriel had spent the next two years carefully mentoring Enjolras, helping channel his passion and vision so he could actually do something with them. He pushed Enjolras to get better grades and encouraged him to join clubs and challenge himself. He had even introduced Enjolras to a friend of his, Professor Lamarque. After Enjolras graduated high school, Lamarque had nurtured his academic, and now budding political career, and Enjolras owed all of that to Mr. Myriel. In his haste to distance himself from his unhappy time in high school, he had lost touch with Mr. Myriel, and this weekend was his chance to try and rectify that. 

"For Mr. Myriel," Enjolras said grimly. 

“That’s the spirit!” Courfeyrac said. He clasped Enjolras’s shoulder, beaming. “But before we go…”

He dramatically whipped a gift bag out from where it had been stashed beside his bed.

“What’s this?” Enjolras said.

“Just open it,” Courfeyrac said, watching him eagerly. He seemed to like giving presents and watching people’s reactions more than he liked receiving them himself.

Enjolras tentatively opened the bag and pulled out several sloppily wrapped packages. In the first was a hand-knitted scarf with a note attached from Feuilly, who was finishing up his stint with the Peace Corp. His note wished Enjolras luck, and said he hoped his gift would keep Enjolras warm, and that he would see him soon. Enjolras wrapped the scarf around his neck snuggly.

“It clashes with your outfit,” Courfeyrac said.

“I don’t care.”

“We’re going to be inside. You don’t need a scarf.”

“I don’t care.”

Courfeyrac chuckled like he hadn't expected anything else. “Open the rest.”

Inside the bag was also a pair of Eiffel Tower socks from Marius that Enjolras was sure he had bought without the slightest hint of irony. Enjolras peeled his black socks off and stuck them on. From Bahorel was some cologne that Enjolras recognized as the one he saved for special occasions. He applied just a dab- just enough for him to catch whiffs of the cologne and be reminded of Bahorel’s birthday the past month. And from Combeferre, there was a group photo of them from that same birthday celebration at the Corinthe, their favorite bar. Enjolras tucked the photo in his wallet. Courfeyrac gallantly offered his arm.

“My lord.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“No anti-aristocracy rants. I was just being cute.”

“You’re not as cute as you think you are.”

“You wound me, m’lord.”

Enjolras groaned exaggeratedly, and tried to hide a ghost of a smile. He wasn’t very successful, judging by Courfeyrac’s triumphant expression. But that was okay, because he felt better, linking arms with Courfeyrac and carrying physical reminders of the rest of their friends.

He wasn’t one to wallow in the past- it took away from time that could be spent bettering the future. But for just a moment, Enjolras couldn’t help but wonder with a slight pang, what his high school experience would have been like if he had known his friends back then.

 

**2003**

 

Enjolras had nearly all of his binders spread over a lunch table, and several textbooks open to boot. It was halfway through junior year. Under Mr. Myriel’s tutelage, his grades had improved vastly. He had always been smart, he had just never done assignments he thought were stupid or boring. But he was getting better. He had a real shot at getting into some of the colleges he wanted to get into that would help him achieve his goals.

Unfortunately, getting better grades did nothing to help him make new friends.

Not that he had expected to. He had known these people for two and a half years, and they had already decided they hated him. He had never fit in. He had been homeschooled by private tutors until ninth grade when his father, a Senator, decided that his son should go to public school. If public school was good enough for the children of his constituents, it was good enough for his son too.

Enjolras had been raised to believe that if you wanted something, you had to fight for it. The world of high school apathy had been completely foreign to him. He had never adapted.

It wasn’t that he _wanted_ to be ‘friends’ with the other students. He had nothing in common with them. He couldn’t pretend to care about the newest movie that had come out or talk about new pop songs when so many things were going wrong in the world. But sometimes, he thought it would be nice to have someone to talk with.

He took up entire tables with his books and binders so that it looked like sitting alone was his choice and his choice alone.

He ignored the first paper ball that hit the back of his head. And the second one. It was when someone threw an apple that he finally turned around and glared. A few tables away, Brujon was looking ridiculously pleased with himself, and raised his arm to throw an orange at Enjolras when someone caught his wrist.

“Oh leave him alone. We don’t want his parents to sue, do we?”

Brujon looked disappointed- tormenting Enjolras was his favorite pastime. But the boy holding his wrist looked at him expectantly.

“Yeah, whatever. Not worth it,” he spat in Enjolras’s direction.

Enjolras was sure that Brujon would make up for not throwing his orange at him later by slamming him against a locker, or tripping him down the stairs again, but Grantaire had stopped him, and no one ever wanted to disagree with Grantaire, or _R_ as they all called him.

Far from feeling grateful for R’s intervention, Enjolras felt infuriated. R was worse than all of them. True, he didn’t go out of his way to make Enjolras’s life hell, but that was only because he didn’t care enough to. He didn’t care about _anything_ , and yet people always listened to him. Enjolras didn’t understand, and he didn’t like not understanding. And then there was that stupid nickname. _R_. When Enjolras got excited over history projects about France, or aced his French class (his mother was from France), his classmates mocked him. “It’s like he’s in love with a country.” “Well, it’s not like any person in their right mind would go out with him.” “What a weirdo.”

But when R dropped random French phrases into sentences (how pretentious could you be?) he was _brilliant_. And his stupid puny nickname was deemed “clever” and “so worldly and sophisticated”.

The point was the last thing Enjolras wanted was his help. Brujon was going do something worse later. Washing food stains out of his clothes so his mother didn’t see and worry was a hell of a lot easier than mending ripped jeans or getting bloodstains out of his shirts, like the time Brujon had knocked him over with his bike.

He wasn’t going to worry about it. Brujon would do something, Enjolras would fight back, and then Enjolras would get detention (Brujon almost always got away punishment free, since he always had someone willing to swear up and down Enjolras had started the whole thing). Instead, he focused his energies on drawing a flier for a charity bake sale he was volunteering at. It took him the rest of lunch, and a good portion of Literature to finish.

Distracting himself was a good idea, because he had promised Mr. Myriel to argue with his teachers less, and Ms. Toussaint was a terrible teacher. It was difficult to be wrong in Literature, but somehow, Ms. Toussaint managed it. Constantly. Having something to doodle was preserving Enjolras’s sanity.

“That’s some shit design.”

Enjolras looked up, scowling. Grantaire was standing over him.

“Can I help you?”

“Did you really not hear what Toussaint just said?”

Enjolras raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“We’re partners for the presentation on _Julius Caesar_.”

“No,” Enjolras looked around for Ms. Toussaint, because there was no way. He hated working with people, and he had no desire to work with Grantaire. Perhaps Ms. Toussaint thought they would balance each other out- one of them cared too much, and the other not enough. The more likely answer was she hated them both equally. Enjolras for arguing with her constantly, and Grantaire for never paying attention, but always knowing the right answer anyway.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either,” Grantaire snapped. The bell rang. “But we should just get it over with.”

“Fine. Do you want to go to the library?”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Grantaire snorted. “It’s a Friday. _I_ have a life, dude. We’ll do it next week.”

Enjolras grinded his teeth. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Enjolras wanted to punch him in his stupid smug face. 

 

**2014**

 

Enjolras’s considerable resolve was being tested. A cocktail party. With alcohol and insipid conversation everywhere. It should be a rule if you had to put up with one, you should get the other. He and Courfeyrac got there and almost instantly heard that Mr. Myriel had been delayed by the weather, and would not be arriving until the next day. Enjolras was all ready to go, but then Courfeyrac spotted the buffet. He reminded Enjolras that they hadn’t eaten since morning and that if Combeferre ever found out, he would yell at/eviscerate them both. So Enjolras was left to wait as Courfeyrac went to raid the buffet table and steal food that they would bring back to their room.

Enjolras would work up to actually talking to his former peers the next day. At the moment, it was agonizing enough to overhear people talking about which celebrity slept with who, and which classmates were getting divorces. He stowed himself away in a corner, and pulled out his phone and read the news.

He tried to pretend he didn’t notice someone staring at him. When he couldn’t ignore it anymore, he looked up, and saw a familiar set of eyes. Grantaire. Grantaire was here.

Enjolras immediately turned back to his phone. He had absolutely nothing to say to him. Not since that last protest senior year.

Enjolras tried to pretend he didn’t notice Grantaire heading towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Vampire Weekend's 'Unbelievers'.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Questions, comments and criticism are always welcome.
> 
>  
> 
> [Come say hi](http://babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**2014**

 

Grantaire couldn't believe it. Enjolras was there. He was there, at the reunion. He had come. Grantaire must be imagining it. Enjolras looked basically the same. His face was still youthful, unlined, and unmarred. He was even frowning, the same frown Grantaire had seen him wear a thousand times. The only thing that convinced him that it really was Enjolras who stood scowling before him were his clothes. The Enjolras from his memories was incapable of dressing that nicely. He would never imagine the man to dress so stylishly. So he had to be real.

Enjolras hadn’t noticed him yet. He was absorbed in his phone. Typical- of course Enjolras was above _mingling_ with everyone. There was still time for Grantaire to slip away without him noticing, but in order to do so, he would have to tear his eyes away, and he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. It had taken a lot of mental effort for Grantaire to prepare to come this weekend, and this was not something he had thought to prepare for.

Enjolras’s spidey senses must have been tingling, or Grantaire was being incredibly obvious in creeping, because suddenly a pair of icy blue eyes were on him. A flash of recognition passed over them before Enjolras returned to whatever was so interesting on his screen.

Grantaire swallowed. That could have been it. Awkward eye-contact, but no voluntary acknowledgement. They could pretend it didn’t happen and avoid each other for the rest of the weekend. But Grantaire was nothing if not a masochist, so he had to talk to Enjolras.

 _We used to be friends_ , Grantaire thought, steeling his shoulders. _Well, until I fucked everything up_. _Fuck this is a terrible idea._

That didn’t stop him.

“Enjolras? Is that you?” Grantaire asked once he was close enough, feigning innocence.

With great reluctance, Enjolras put his phone down, and glared at Grantaire. Was it weird that Grantaire had missed that glare? Probably. It was definitely unhealthy.

“It’s me. R.”

Enjolras bit the inside of his cheek, as if debating how rude was too rude. “Grantaire,” he finally said, his voice coolly civil. He really had that down-pat, Grantaire thought. Enjolras’s refusal to use his nickname didn’t escape his notice.

“It’s been forever,” Grantaire continued. Fuck, why was he putting his drink on the table? He could have done an awkward walk-by and be _done_ with this, but no, no, apparently his hands had taken on a mind of their own and they wanted to prolong this experience.

“Not really.”

“How have you been?”

“Busy.”

“Good. Busy is good,” Grantaire said when it became obvious Enjolras wasn’t going to expand any further. He knew already that Enjolras was making great strides in city government. He was even working for one of the actually good politicians, Mayor Valjean. He knew this, because sometimes when he got incredibly drunk, he Googled Enjolras, for reasons he didn’t want to think about too much.

Enjolras merely nodded stiffly, before turning back to his cell phone. _Fight or flight?_ Grantaire thought. Would he fight for Enjolras’s attention, or run as fast as he could back to his hotel room and drink the entire contents of the mini-bar.

“Why, Enjolras, I leave you alone for five minutes and you actually interact with other human beings? I’m so proud of you!”

Grantaire looked up saw a handsome man beaming broadly at the pair of them.

“I’m Courfeyrac,” the man continued. “I just raided the buffet tables. Want some?”

He gestured to a truly impressive assortment of plates that he was somehow managing to balance on his arms.

“Grantaire was just leaving,” Enjolras said.

“Maybe some other time,” Courfeyrac said, looking at Enjolras like he was trying to get a read on him. “It’s going to be a long weekend.”

“That it is,” Enjolras grumbled, taking a few of Courfeyrac’s plates, and heading straight for the door.

“I guess we’ll see you?” Courfeyrac said, clearly trying to relieve whatever awkwardness he could.

“Yeah. See you.”

 

**2003**

 

After blowing Enjolras off–had he seriously expected Grantaire to work on an English project a Friday afternoon?- Grantaire realized he had no idea how to get in touch with Enjolras over the weekend. So, really, there was no point in starting anything, because maybe Enjolras would also do anything Grantaire would do, and then they would have both done the same thing, and that would be a waste of time. Like Grantaire said, they would work on it the next week, and in the mean time, he would push the project out of his mind. Mostly. He was still cursing his luck at getting stuck with the school weirdo as his partner.

The kid had a lot of guts, Grantaire would give him that. He even grudgingly admired how Enjolras never backed down for a fight. But for what? Enjolras had gotten the crap kicked out of him more than once, he was nearly kicked out of school, and everyone loved to mock him, behind his back and to his face. It was completely idiotic. Grantaire just wanted to grab Enjolras and say, “Stop. Just keep your head down, and it won’t be so bad.” He kind of felt bad for Enjolras- he clearly didn’t know how to interact with normal human beings.

And while Grantaire might not hate Enjolras as much as everyone else did, that didn’t mean he knew how to talk to him over the weekend about their project.

That would be his excuse on Monday when he showed up without any work done at all. “Sorry, man. You didn’t give me your phone number. I couldn’t start because I didn’t know what you had already done.” Grantaire felt rather pleased with himself. He would push the responsibility for his procrastination solely on Enjolras. He was even slightly looking forward to Enjolras having to accept his excuse with a huff. Grantaire was good at a lot of things, and shirking responsibility and making it look like it wasn’t his fault was one of them.

He figured he would just grab Enjolras on their way into English, and make his excuses then. Which was why he was surprised when Enjolras found him outside in the parking lot, where he had been innocently sneaking in a smoke before school started.

“Who the fuck said you were allowed back here?” Gueulemer snarled.

“I’m here about our project,” Enjolras said, having the nerve to look completely unaffected by the hostile glares and murmurs Grantaire’s friends aimed at him. Grantaire didn’t understand how he could be so composed and dignified in the face of constant ridicule and cruelty.

There was just something about Enjolras. It was some kind of purity of the soul (Jesus, it wasn’t even 8:00 yet; how high _was_ Grantaire?). It made him blaze brighter than the other students, and it made their comments and judgment bounce off him. He was too passionate, too earnest, and too determined. People either didn’t understand him, or were afraid of him, or both. And so instead of trying, they rejected him. Grantaire understood the instinct. Sometimes, when he was in one of his more philosophical moods, he thought if he got too close to Enjolras, his brightness might illuminate some darker parts of Grantaire’s soul. And he didn’t think he was prepared to look at them once exposed.

 “It’s too early on a Monday to work on Shakespeare,” Grantaire drawled.

“There’s no need,” Enjolras shoved a color coded binder against Grantaire’s chest. “It’s done. Your talking points are broken down in bullet format. Just show up to class and try not to be high.”

“Wait,” Grantaire said. “You did this all this weekend?”

“Nerd,” scoffed Dahlia, Grantaire’s on and off and currently back on again girlfriend.

Enjolras didn’t even spare her a glance.

“It wasn’t hard.”

“We were supposed to work on it together this week,” Grantaire said, never mind that he had already thought of ten excuses to avoid actually working on the project.

“It may have escaped your notice, but I am putting in effort this year,” Enjolras said haughtily. “I did this project alone because I intend to get an A.”

“So I couldn’t get an A?” Grantaire said, starting to feel offended.

Enjolras shrugged.

“I could do A quality work.”

“If you say so. Just look over the notes. And try to sober up,” Enjolras said, casting a disdainful look at the joints littering the pavement.

 

**2014**

 

“Hey. Sorry I’m late,” Jehan said after Grantaire let him into their hotel room. He unceremoniously dumped his suitcase on the free bed and flopped down after it. “Traffic was killer.”

“Not a problem.”

Jehan frowned. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” Jehan said, narrowing his eyes. “You’re upset.”

Grantaire groaned. He wanted one night of peace, but Jehan would probably find out soon enough anyway.

“Enjolras was there.”

Jehan looked surprised. “I thought you said he would probably rather chew his leg off than come here.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He hummed. “Did you talk to him?”

“Uh, a little?”

“And how did it go?” Jehan’s voice indicated he knew exactly how it went.

“Shitty.”

“Well I think it’s incredibly petty of him to have a grudge for this long,” Jehan said, pursing his lips.

“Just…” Grantaire slipped in between his sheets. “Leave it?”

Jehan jumped off of his bed and onto Grantaire’s. “No. I am here for moral support. You’ve come a long way in ten years, and I’m not going to let some random asshole’s appearance ruin this weekend for you.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. During college, he derailed, dropped out, hit what he was fairly sure was rock bottom, and was now finally working his way back up. He was a fairly well known political cartoonist, and even wrote an occasional column for a respected magazine. Jehan thought coming to the reunion would be a good marker for Grantaire of just how far he had come.

“He’s not…a random asshole,” Grantaire ran his fingers through his hair.

“No, he’s not,” Jehan agreed.

Grantaire flipped over onto his side. This was not a conversation he wanted to have again. Enjolras came up very rarely- Grantaire didn’t like talking about his past. But whenever he came up, or whenever Jehan caught Grantaire doing his drunk Google searches, he would get an obnoxious knowing look on his face. And he wouldn’t tell Grantaire _what_ he thought he knew. He was just sigh, quote some dead poet, and start scribbling away in his inspiration notebook.

Grantaire didn’t know why he still thought about Enjolras as often as he did. (And thank God Jehan didn’t know how often that was). For all the times Enjolras had crossed his mind in the past decade, he had never thought they would meet again. He groaned and burrowed deeper in the bed, willing it to swallow him up whole.

 

**2003**

 

Grantaire was so offended that Enjolras didn’t think he could do a good job, he didn't bother to read Enjolras's meticulous notes for the entire week. He didn’t read them until Friday, the day of the presentation when he slunk in class just before the bell rang. He got as far as halfway through the first page before he let out a snort. Of course Enjolras thought Brutus and the conspirators were justified in their assassination of a tyrant. Crazy anarchist. Grantaire didn't really give a shit about a bunch of dead Romans, but the enthusiasm with which Enjolras effused about how citizens had to take back power from corrupt officials was quite frankly hilarious. In fact, he had an idea. 

“Are you ready for your presentation?” Ms. Toussaint asked him and Enjolras, looking like she didn’t particularly care if they were or not.

Enjolras nodded, and took his place at the front of the room. Grantaire shuffled to the front, taking his sweet time.

“Our topic was whether the conspirators had a right to assassinate Caesar or not,” Enjolras said. “And the answer is absolutely-”

“Not.”

Enjolras’s head tuned to look at him so fast, Grantaire was almost afraid he would get whiplash.

“ _What_?” he hissed.

“Just because you think a leader is shit-”

 _“Language,_ ” Ms. Toussaint snapped.

“Sorry. Just because you think a leader is Shiatsu,” Grantaire drawled. “Doesn’t give you the right to off them. I mean, then we’d have gotten rid of Gervais ages ago.”

A guffaw rippled across the classroom. Gervais, the class president wasn’t especially popular. He had been elected the past two years more out of lack of competition than anything else.

“Order,” Ms. Toussaint reprimanded her class with a stern glare.

“Rome was supposed to be a republic. Caesar meant to take power for himself. When a government fails its people, when corrupt officials deprive people of their most basic rights, it is a duty to rectify that.”

“With murder?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Enjolras said. “While the coup didn’t end the way the conspirators planned, even Antony recognized the importance of what they were trying to accomplish when called Brutus the noblest Roman.”

“Yeah, the guy who stabbed his best friend in the back was _super_ noble.”

“Brutus was the only one who wasn’t in the conspiracy for personal gain. He wanted a better republic for the people. If everyone’s intentions were as noble-”

“That would never happen.”

“It could,” Enjolras said adamantly, and wow, he actually believed this shit.

“As adorable as your naivety is, if you pulled your head out of your ass and looked around you,” Grantaire said, causing a few of the other students to laugh out loud. “You’d see that the human race is full of people who don’t give any fucks. Ancient Rome, modern-day America, it doesn’t matter. Tyrants will come to power, people will revolt-”

“Exactly!” Enjolras said, his face starting to turn red.

“And things will be fine for a little while, before some other corrupt dick shits on everything. In the end, everything is for nothing.”

“That’s not true!” Enjolras clutched his notes close to his chest.

“Enough!” Ms. Toussaint shouted. “I said no more interruptions. Sit down. You’re both done, and you will both receive incompletes. And Enjolras, collect your things and go to Javert’s office.”

Javert was a widely feared vice principle who was ruthless in disciplining the students. In school detention with him was a very unpleasant experience.

And it was complete bullshit. Ms. Toussaint knew she had to punish someone, and though Enjolras didn’t start anything, he had the misfortune of being the last to speak, and so he was the target of Ms. Toussaint’s wrath. It was also a tactical move; punishing the wildly unpopular Enjolras over the class darling meant a mutiny would be less likely to occur.

It wasn't fair, and everyone knew it. But no one cared enough about Enjolras to say so. Grantaire wasn't going to be the only one to stand up for him. 

So he decided to do the next best thing and join him.

“For example,” Grantaire continued, as if he had never been interrupted. “If we were to revolt, right now-”

He shoved Ms. Toussaint’s papers off her desk and hopped up on it.

“Would anything change? No. They’d just bring in some other pseudo intellect with a college degree to teach us.”

“Grantaire!” Ms. Toussaint said, practically shaking with fury. “You can join Enjolras. Right now!”

Grantaire gracefully hopped off the table, and bowed as his classmates wildly applauded. He waved to them as Ms. Toussaint all but shoved him out before slamming the door. Enjolras had already started towards Javert’s office and Grantaire had to jog to catch up. Enjolras cast him a particularly unimpressed look.

“Was ruining my presentation not enough? Now you have to ruin detention?”

“Oh please. If anything, I’m improving in school detention.” He noted the way Enjolras was still gripping his notes tightly. “Is that stuff, you know, government, democracy actually important to you?”

“Of course.” Enjolras seemed almost confused that it _wasn’t_ important to some people.

“But why? It’s futile.”

“You’ve made your stance quite clear,” Enjolras said icily.

Guilt was creeping through Grantaire. Because Enjolras had put a lot of work into the presentation, and thanks to him, he didn’t get to finish it. It was weird to think someone actually cared about something as mundane as a school presentation, but apparently, Enjolras did.

“Well, why don’t you try and convince me.”

Enjolras looked tempted, but they had reached the door of Javert’s office which meant strict silence would be enforced.

“How about later?” Grantaire said without thinking it through.

He really did want to try and understand how Enjolras could be so passionate about something that seemed stupid to him. (And then poke holes in his argument, because winding him was turning out to be really fun). But that would be a mistake. Because when would they talk? At lunch? After school? It’s not like Grantaire could just hang out with Enjolras; people would talk.

Either he got lucky, or Enjolras was letting him off the hook, because he said, “I have to work during lunch to make up for whatever I’m missing in class, so thank you for that. And I can’t do it after school, because I already have detention. So thanks for helping me get double detention today.”

Detention after school meant detention with the other vice principle, Ms. Simplice. Ms. Simplice was much less strict than Javert. You could pretty much do anything during your detention, as long as you weren’t too loud, and stayed in the room. You were even allowed to talk.

 

The look on Enjolras’s face when Grantaire waltzed into detention later that afternoon was priceless.

“Alright. We have an hour, I’m bored already. Let’s hear what you got.”

Enjolras was clearly fighting against the smile that was slowly spreading across his face which made it that much better.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**2003**

 

The first time Grantaire got himself thrown into detention with Enjolras it was because he obviously felt guilty that Enjolras had been sent there, which was surprising in itself. Grantaire seemed to give little thought about how his actions affected other people, especially Enjolras. The second time, it seemed to arise from a challenge. But the third, fourth and fifth times were mysteries to Enjolras. At first he thought they were coincidences, which was strange, because Grantaire rarely got detention before. He was either a favorite of some of the more lenient teachers, or too smart to get caught by the others. So it seemed odd he all of the sudden was getting consistently thrown into detention at the same time as Enjolras.

Enjolras didn't know what to make of it. There was no logical reason for the sudden spike in shared detentions, but with the sixth and seventh detentions, it seemed less and less likely this could be coincidental. But why? Grantaire had already done the first detention with Enjolras as a strange sort of penance. The entire school was obsessed with Grantaire, and so one only had to walk down the hallway to hear of a snarky comeback he had just made in class, or who he was currently dating, or yes, if he had done something so outrageous that he was assigned detention. Once Enjolras started paying attention to the whispers, he realized it seemed Grantaire was _only_ assigned detention _after_ he was.

He knew better than to question Grantaire about it. On their seventh shared detention, Grantaire sauntered in just as the clock struck three, paused only to say, “Fancy seeing you here,” before slipping into the seat farthest in the back.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. He wasn’t an idiot, he _knew_ Grantaire was doing this on purpose, and his first thought that it was part of an elaborate prank that was being played on him. But Grantaire had never shown any interest in picking on him before- why start now? Whatever his motives, he clearly was going to pretend that this was all one big coincidence.

The first five minutes of their detention was always spent in silence. Enjolras always brought his homework to do, because if he was going to be stuck there, he might as well do it productively. Grantaire would usually tap his fingers on his desk for the first few minutes, yawn obnoxiously, stretch, then slowly move his way to the front of the room, seat by seat until he sat behind Enjolras. Then he would try to get his attention in the most annoying way possible.

Today it was by blowing on his neck. Enjolras elected to ignore him. Grantaire blew again. Enjolras loudly flipped a page in response.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said in a stage whisper. “ _Enjolras_.”

He poked the back of Enjolras’s head rhythmically.

Enjolras sighed. “ _What_?”

“I’m bored.”

“That’s not my problem.”

Grantaire kept poking.

“It’s detention,” Enjolras hissed. “It’s not supposed to be fun.”

Poke, poke, poke, poke, poke.

Enjolras sighed again, louder this time, dug around his bag and thrust out a book. “Here. I’m busy.”

Grantaire accepted. “ _A Game of Thrones_.” He flipped it over. “It’s a fantasy book?”

“Yes. I just started it. There’s three books in the series so far, and this is the first. I think the next one is due out any time. It focuses on political struggles in a fictional world. I’m actually very interested to see how the protagonist Ned Stark navigates the political intricacies while trying to honor his values over the course of the series.”

Grantaire shrugged and handed the book back. “I’ll wait until the movie comes out.”

“How do you know there’ll be a movie?”

“There’s always a movie,” Grantaire replied. “People don’t read any more.”

“You’re the one who’s bored.”

“But I won’t finish that today.”

“So take it with you.”

“But then-” Grantaire bit his lip.

“Then what?”

Grantaire weighed his next words. “I’d have to carry it around with me.”

“And you’re afraid someone would see you with a book you didn’t have to read for class? God _forbid_ people suspect you read for fun.”

“This seems kind of like a nerd thing,” Grantaire said bluntly, gesturing at the book.

“So? Who cares?”

“People.”

“Do you really think your friends wouldn’t like you if they found out you read a fantasy novel?” Enjolras could barely keep the incredulity out of his voice.

Grantaire ran a hand through his hair. “My friends have a certain…image of me. They expect me to behave a certain way, I expect them to behave a certain way. We know what to expect from each other and if we stick to that arrangement, we get along.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Enjolras said. “If they’re your friends, wouldn’t they like you anyway?”

“You really are incredibly naïve,” Grantaire said, wearing an interesting expression that was half pity half amused.

“And it sounds like you and your friends are incredibly shallow.”

“Guilty as charged,” Grantaire smirked. “Not all of us can be like you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t care what anyone thinks.” The way he said it almost sounded like a compliment. Until he felt the need to add, “And look where that’s gotten you. Everyone is constantly shitting on you. No one wants to talk to you.”

“Except you, apparently, because you for whatever reason feel the need to get yourself landed in here whenever I am.”

Grantaire blinked. “Wow, that’s quite the ego you have there,” His cheeks turned a faint pink. “That’s not….I don’t…that’s not what’s going on,” he said unconvincingly.

“If you say so,” Enjolras said, getting bored. Grantaire wasn’t going to admit what was happening, and he wanted to finish his homework so when he got home he could watch a special news report on current immigration issues. If Grantaire wanted to keep getting thrown into detention and was going to pretend it had nothing to do with Enjolras, he could entertain himself.

Enjolras could feel Grantaire’s eyes boring into the back of his skull, but he made no attempt to speak to him again until Ms. Simplice said they could go.

“I guess…I’ll see you next time,” Grantaire muttered, slipping out of the room.

**2014**

 

"So are we not going to talk about your friend down there?"

After they got back to their room, Enjolras had immediately grabbed his clothes, locked himself in the bathroom, and took a long shower. He was in there so long, and the water so scalding, that Courfeyrac decided to leave the door open for at least 10 minutes before going in, so the bathroom had a chance to de-saunafy itself. Then Enjolras flopped on his bed and sullenly picked at his cold dinner. It was only then that Courfeyrac had ventured to question him. 

"He's not my friend," Enjolras snapped. 

"He seemed friendly."

Enjolras huffed and flipped over on his side, his back facing Courfeyrac. He was being childish, he knew, but he was not in the mood to talk about Grantaire. 

Rather than be off-put by his moodiness, Courfeyrac cheerfully said, "You know, showing your butt to people isn't really a way to punish them."

Enjolras grabbed a pillow and covered his rear with it. "Why are all our friends obsessed with my ass?"

"Because it's cute. When you're not around and we need a code name, we call you 'Cute Butt'."

"You do not," Enjolras flipped over so he could face Courfeyrac and properly glare at him. 

Courfeyrac was smiling at him fondly, and patiently. Enjolras sighed. Courfeyrac had given up his weekend and travelled all this way with Enjolras. He didn't deserve to be Enjolras's emotional punching bag. 

"Grantaire and I used to be friends. Or," he rubbed his eyes. "I thought we were. But he turned out to be just like everyone else."

His statement was met with a sympathetic hum. Courfeyrac was watching him carefully, assessing how upset Enjolras was and how much comfort he needed. 

"It's fine," Enjolras said, and that was mostly true. "I just thought that if he came, he wouldn't talk to me."

"What happened between you two?" Courfeyrac asked curiously. 

"It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago."

Courfeyrac didn’t look convinced, and Enjolras couldn't exactly blame him, seeing as how upset he was over something that 'didn't matter'. But it didn’t. Or it shouldn’t. Enjolras lived in the present and looked to the future, and had very little time to dwell in his past. His strategy just wouldn’t work this weekend when he would be forced to confront his past – or maybe it was more like his past would obstinately confront _him_ even though he couldn’t have made it clearer he had zero desire to deal with it. But come Tuesday, he could go back to ignoring parts of his life that he wanted to ignore.

Of course, the weekend would be infinitely more pleasant if Grantaire would do him the courtesy of ignoring him. What did they have to say to each other? Grantaire had shown in high school he had no interest or respect for Enjolras and his opinions. It wasn’t as if his ideals had changed either – Enjolras knew he was a political cartoonist.

It wasn’t like he was _trying_ to seek out information about Grantaire. It was the opposite, actually. But Grantaire was well known enough that as someone working in politics, Enjolras couldn’t really ignore him. (Especially since Grantaire had drawn about his boss and his boss’s boss a few times). Even though his cartoons were the sort of pessimistic crap Enjolras had very little time or patience for. He didn’t even sign his name on them. It was just ‘R’. But the drawing style combined with that stupid nickname left Enjolras reasonably positive that it was in fact Grantaire behind the works.

“Look, I’ll be fine,” Enjolras said finally. “I just wasn’t expecting to have to deal with Grantaire. But now I know, so I can handle it.”

Courfeyrac let out a frustrated sigh. “But you don’t have to _handle_ it. It’s okay to tell other people about your problems and let them help you.” When Enjolras didn’t respond, he added. “Fine. We’ll do things your way. But if it gets to be too much-”

“I know,” Enjolras said softly. “Thank you.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Enjolras’s breathing slowly steadied. Just as he was finally about to fall asleep, he remembered. "You guys don't really call me 'Cute Butt' do you?"

The silence that followed was not reassuring. 

 

**2003**

 

The next week, Enjolras was already immersed in _A Game of Thrones_ when he heard footsteps. There was a three day weekend coming up, so he could do homework then and read for pleasure now. It had been a long day, with his classmates being extra obnoxious and cruel, and the teachers even less sympathetic than usual. He didn’t bother looking up when Grantaire came in. To his surprise, Grantaire went right to the seat next to him.

“So tell me about that Nerd Stark guy.”

Grantaire was looking at him determinedly. Last week’s ‘see you next time’ was probably the only acknowledgement Enjolras was going to get from Grantaire that he was in fact doing this on purpose. It wasn’t quite enough, but it would have to do. Plus Enjolras wanted talk about his book.

“Well, he’s a man of honor-”

“He sounds like an idiot.”

“He doesn’t always make the smartest decisions,” Enjolras agreed. “But he sticks to his principles.”

“Yep. Definitely an idiot,” Grantaire smirked.

Enjolras lightly hit Grantaire’s arm with his book, but grinned back. Maybe he didn’t have to understand why Grantaire kept doing this to be able to enjoy his company.

 

**2014**

  
Enjolras only slept for a few hours before waking up. It was still the middle of the night. Enjolras tried to go back to sleep, but after about half an hour of tossing and turning, he thought he should try a different approach. A walk might help clear his head, or at the very least, wear him out. 

The cold sea air hit him with full force as soon as he was outside. It was late May, but the proximity to the sea and just being so far north meant it was still chilly, especially at night. Rather than retreat and grab a jacket or Feuilly's scarf, Enjolras embraced the cold. He liked extremes, and after the cozy hotel room, the frigid cold was a welcome change. He walked as close to the water as he could, the gentle waves lapping at his feet. Struck by sudden inspiration, he stripped off his shirt and pajama pants. He contemplated taking his boxers off too, but decided against it. He stopped only long enough to make sure his clothes were far enough away from the water so they wouldn’t wash away before wading in.

The water was bracing, but it was just what he needed. Over stimulating his senses might just exhaust him and help him get to sleep. He swam out a few paces, then back to where the water was shallow. He stood up, the water around his waist, feeling a lot better for the small amount of exercise he did.

"Skinny dipping is illegal, you know."

Enjolras looked up to see a man around his age standing by where he had stashed his clothes, looking amused. 

"It's not skinny dipping," Enjolras gestured to his boxers. Which he now realized were clinging to his legs in a thoroughly indecent manner.

"Well, no swimming after dark," the man said, gesturing to a large sign with big red letters that Enjolras had completely disregarded. 

"What can I say?" Enjolras finally reached the man, and more importantly, his clothes. He tugged on his shirt quickly. "I'm a rebel."

The corner of the man's mouth quirked up. He looked Enjolras seriously, like he was making up his mind about something. He took a step to close the distance between them and stuck out his hand. "Jean Prouvaire."

Enjolras shook it. "Enjolras."

"I know," Jean Prouvaire said, and Enjolras wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. 

"You must follow politics very closely."

Jean Prouvaire quirked his head. "Why do you say that?"

"You weren’t in my class, but I'm going to make the assumption you're the guest of someone who was."

"Correct."

"Well, I know none of my former peers cared enough about me to tell anyone about me. So it's possible you know me because of my job. But you must be a very enthusiastic political follower if you know the name of one of the Mayor Valjean's staff members."

Jean Prouvaire looked amused. "Wrong on both accounts. Well," he amended. "I am interested in politics, but not quite to the extent you're suggesting."

"Are you involved in politics?" Enjolras was curious. Politics was way more interesting than whichever of his peers had apparently told their guest about him.

His companion laughed. "Are you going to try and recruit me for something?"

"No. Well, maybe. If you're amenable."

At some point, they had started walking towards nowhere in particular. Their meandering eventually led them to make a large circle around the hotel property, all while casually talking about current events. Or talking as casually about current events as Enjolras was capable. It was hard for him to control his enthusiasm, but Combeferre had helped him learn to tone it down when talking to strangers so he wouldn’t ‘scare them away’. Luckily, Jean Prouvaire seemed just as enthusiastic as Enjolras. When they finally reached the lobby, he looked at Enjolras very seriously and sighed.

“I didn’t want to like you,” he said, and Enjolras had no idea what he meant by that. “But I’ve decided I do anyway.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras only barely managed to not turn it into a question.

“You can call me Jehan,” he said magnanimously.

The elevator dinged, and they both got in, riding to their respective floors in an only slightly awkward silence.

“Good night, Jehan,” Enjolras said as he stepped out.

“Good night, Enjolras. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the huge gaps between updates. I really am trying to be better about it, but thank you for your patience. For some reason, after months of hibernation, the radio keeps playing the Vampire Weekend song I nicked the title from a lot, so it's kind of a reminder a couple times of week to update, so I'm hoping that will help. 
> 
> Clearly I am not over the Game of Thrones finale, since I decided to make Enjolras A Song of Fire and Ice nerd. (And apparent hipster, since he liked the books before the show came out. I now have a headcanon that he, Combeferre and Courfeyrac absolutely bonded over the series during college and when they found out it was going to be a TV show they collectively freaked out and watch it together religiously). 
> 
> [Come say hi](http://babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**2003**

It was weird that detention had quickly become the best part of Grantaire's day. He didn't know exactly when he had started looking forward to them so much. But on the days when Enjolras managed to stay out of trouble, Grantaire felt strangely disappointed. Today was one of those days. Thbaee last class of the day was done, and Grantaire hadn't heard of any last minute fiascos Enjolras had landed himself in.

It was a shame, Grantaire reflected, as he trudged to his locker. There had been an article in the newspaper he read and was eager to see Enjolras rant about. (He had already anticipated some of the points Enjolras would be sure to make and had already prepared some counterarguments.)

"Hey R!" It was Floreal. "We're going to the mall? Want to come with?"

He shook his head. "I have plans."

Floreal nodded understandingly and Grantaire wondered why no one ever asked him what his plans were. At least a few times a month, his friends were a little too much for him, and he would decline hanging out in favor of vague plans. They always accepted it without question. People were only too happy to speculate and try to fill in the blanks themselves: he was doing drugs, he had a secret girlfriend, he was in an underground band... Grantaire was sure there were worse rumors, but in the end it didn't matter. No one could agree where he was going, so it added a mysterious allure to Grantaire's image. In truth, he usually went home, or other places he knew he wouldn't run into anybody. It wasn't that Grantaire didn't like people; it was that increasingly, he felt lonely while surrounded by his friends.

Toda, he decided to go to the public library. He needed to be alone in the quiet, surrounded by books. The school library was out of the question, because it was crawling with horny couples looking for a quickie, or bored students waiting for their parents to pick them up. So it was to be the public library.

Grantaire wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. He really should invest in a jacket warmer than his trusty leather one - they were in Massachusetts for Christ's sake. But he liked the way he looked in the leather jacket. And yes, Grantaire was superficial enough to sacrifice his health in favor of his image. Besides, it was March. He refused to bundle up too much on principle.

He decided to head into the city and go to the main Boston Public Library downtown. It meant having to take the T for at least an hour, which would be crowded this time of day, but the idea of hiding away in one of the giant library's nooks appealed to him. He liked how big the building was, and the artistic and historical value of the older section. He liked finding quiet corners to tuck away in where he could still hear the muted conversations of tourists or loud patrons.

With no particular subject to peruse in mind, Grantaire elected to wander around until he found something that piqued his interest. To his immense surprise, he saw a familiar head of blonde curls through the bookcases. He watched as Enjolras added a volume to the large pile of books he had accrued on the floor before sliding down to join them. Enjolras curled up, hugging his knees to his chest, then leaned against the wall, opened his book, and smiled contentedly. Grantaire was so used to seeing Enjolras tense and ready for a fight, and oftentimes, actually fighting. This blissful, relaxed Enjolras was something new, and something he probably wouldn't see again soon. He wished he had a camera to capture the moment. Or a sketchpad. But he didn't have either of those things with him, so instead he tried to commit the image to memory.

He realized it was probably creepy that he was standing there just staring (thank goodness Enjolras was completely absorbed in his book), so he moved to the shelf behind Enjolras. Once he was directly behind him, he crouched down so he was at level with Enjolras and pushed one of the books so it poked his shoulder. Enjolras flipped a page, and continued reading. Grantaire pushed the book harder, so he could see it digging into Enjolras's shoulder. Enjolras shifted, but gave no other response. Grantaire pushed another book out so it was all but on top of Enjolras's head, and was rewarded with Enjolras turning his head around slowly. His confused eyes brightened when they met Grantaire's.

“Hang on,” Enjolras, and Grantaire watched him stand up. A few seconds later, he had come over the Grantaire’s side of the shelf.

“Hey,” Grantaire said.

“What are you doing here?” Enjolras offered him his hand to help stand up.

Grantaire shrugged noncommittally. “You?”

Enjolras’s brow creased, like he was trying to figure out the fairness of him sharing information without Grantaire doing the same first before he spoke. “My family is going out for dinner tonight. I had some time to kill before I have to meet my dad at his office.”

“Shhh,” came a hiss from another row.

“Want to get out of here?” Grantaire mouthed.

Enjolras nodded. After he either put his books back or checked them out, they went outside and were instantly hit with the bitter cold air. They walked close together to try and stay warm. Grantaire didn't mind.

"So," he said. "No detention today. Is it an early Easter miracle?"

“Easter miracles aren’t a thing.”

“Ummm…” Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Jesus?”

“I meant it’s not a common expression…oh never mind. I'm trying to cut back on detention," Enjolras said with a shrug.

"Haven't you been doing that all year?" Grantaire asked.

“I’m trying to significantly cut back.”

"Oh," Grantaire said. The word hung between them, an unanswered question.

"I'm going to have to start applying for colleges next year," Enjolras continued after a slight pause. "The rest of junior year is going to be really important. Myriel thinks I have a chance at getting into some good schools."

"Why do you care?" Grantaire asked slightly harsher than he meant to. It was a good thing. Enjolras would finally start keeping his head down, which was what Grantaire thought he should do all along. Grantaire should be happy.

They rounded a corner, and the streetlights lit up Enjolras's profile. Grantaire watched as he tipped his head back slightly towards the sky like it held some great wisdom. It probably didn't even occur to him to watch the ground for ice. It was typical Enjolras; he was too focused on the stars to pay attention to what was down below.

“The best way to help other people is to get a good education,” he said finally. “If I can get into a good school, I can get a job where I can change the system from the inside. I’m not going to give up protesting or fighting for what’s right, but it would be foolish not to explore other options too.”

Grantaire shook his head.

“What, no scathing comment about how I’m wasting my time?” Enjolras bumped their shoulders together.

“I don’t want to fight. It’s almost spring break. We shouldn't fight if we’re not going to see each other for a while.”

Enjolras laughed. “That was shockingly sentimental, coming from you.”

It was also a lie. Grantaire didn’t really give a damn if they got in an argument right before break or not. But it was nice, strolling through the city and admiring the remnants of what was probably the last snowfall of the year. Not that Grantaire didn’t love their heated debates, but there was something peaceful about what they were doing, and he could almost pretend that they were actually friends who could hang out whenever they wanted. That their relationship wasn’t limited to him getting thrown into detention just to spend time with the amazing boy at his side. He could pretend those afternoons with Enjolras weren't about to come to an end because Enjolras was going to do great things one day and Grantaire was a coward.

Grantaire kept trying to convince Enjolras they should get coffee, but it seemed Enjolras had a problem with every shop they passed. (“It’s a chain”, “They are _terrible_ to the environment,” “ _Starbucks_ , Grantaire, _really_?”).

“How about this one?” With a flourish, Grantaire presented a small shop tucked away at the mouth of an alley.

Enjolras pursed his lips. “I got kicked out of here once.”

Grantaire stared at him, before bursting into laughter. “Are you serious?”

“I got in a disagreement with another patron for the way he was relentlessly hitting on the barista,” Enjolras admitted.

“Of course you did. Well, come on. There has to be another coffee shop in the city that you don’t have a problem with. Hypothetically.”

Enjolras glanced at his watch. “I have to go, actually. I can’t be late for dinner.”

“Right. With your parents.”

Enjolras nodded. “This was…fun though. We should hang out sometime. Other than detention.”

“We should,” Grantaire agreed.

They both knew they wouldn’t. Because Enjolras was too good for anyone at their school and Grantaire was a coward. He was too afraid of what other people might say to him. And it was stupid, because Enjolras was better than all of them put together, but that didn’t change anything.

“Well I’m this way,” Enjolras gestured awkwardly.

“Okay. See you around.”

“Wait.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows.

“Won’t you be cold?” Enjolras said, and that wasn’t what Grantaire had been expecting at all.

“Well I’m less picky about my coffee choices, so I’ll get some and warm up.”

“You should wear warmer clothes.” The gravity of Enjolras’s gaze stilled Grantaire.

 “It’s March.”

“There’s _snow_ ,” Enjolras said, his exasperated tone somewhat undermined by the fond smile playing at his lips. “Here.”

He reached into his pocket and handed Grantaire a green beanie Grantaire had seen him wear a few times.

“I can’t take your hat.” 

Enjolras stepped forward and pulled the beanie over Grantaire’s entire head, covering his face and coming just below his chin. When Grantaire pushed it up, Enjolras laughed.

“Seriously. I’m about to go inside, and my parents will drive me back. And I’m properly dressed for the weather.”

“Thank you.”

“Keep it. I’ll see you around. Now I really have to go,” Enjolras said, jogging to the nearest subway entrance.

Grantaire watched him go, feeling much warmer than he had a minute ago.

**2014**

 

When Grantaire woke up in the morning, Jehan was still sleeping. That was unsurprising, since not only had he come in late, but Grantaire had also heard him moving around in the middle of the night. Of course, Grantaire was really the last person who could judge anyone on odd sleeping patterns, but Grantaire was bored, and he didn't appreciate his friend abandoning him in favor of sleep. Even after Grantaire showered, brushed his teeth, and put on clean clothes, Jehan was still slumbering away, despite the fact they agreed the night before to head downstairs at eight. Grantaire was tempted to throw something at Jehan, but he was wrapped in layers of layers of blankets and pillows, and wasn't even visible. So instead, Grantaire flicked through a few TV channels, but nothing especially caught his interest. He settled for flipping through the channels at an obnoxious pace.

"Nngaaa," the mound in Jehan's bed moaned.

Grantaire smirked and turned up the volume. This effected Jehan so much that he burrowed his head out of his blankets and glared blearily at Grantaire.

"Jehan?" Grantaire leapt from his bed to Jehan's and flung his arms as best he could around Jehan. "Jehan, it is you! You're alive! I thought I lost you forever to the pillow pile."

"Early. No." Jehan grumbled, screwing his eyes shut, burying his face again in the blankets, and rolling out of Grantaire's clutches.

If Jehan was not yet forming full sentences, then he must indeed be exhausted. A better, less selfish friend might let him be.

"But Jehaaaan," Grantaire whined, bouncing a little on the bed for good measure. "I'm boooored."

Jehan hit him with a surprisingly well-aimed pillow, made all the more impressive, considering how his face was mostly obscured, and his arms practically pinned down by his linens.

"Goway."

Grantaire wondered how many of his fingers Jehan would break if he tried to tickle him.

"Don't," Jehan growled, partially sitting up.

"I wasn't-"

"Whatever you were thinking, don't."

"You're supposed to be keeping me company," Grantaire reminded him.

"Uhhhh," Jehan sat up all the way. "Go downstairs and explore. I'll be down for breakfast in one more hour."

"Why would I want to go downstairs? That will substantially increase the chance I have to talk to some of those people," Grantaire shuddered. Had he really considered those people his friends all those years ago?

"Because facing your past and talking to 'those people' was the point of us coming here in the first place. And if you continue to click through channels like that, I'll break off your thumb and keep it as a trophy."

"I was actually using my index finger to change the channels, but I see your point," Grantaire hastened to add when Jehan glared at him. "Fine. I'll go downstairs, but you have to come downstairs in twenty minutes."

"Fifty five minutes."

"Thirty."

"Fifty."

Grantaire ground his teeth. "I feel like you're not compromising that much."

Jehan tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Fifty minutes and I tell you who I ran into last night."

"You ran into Enjolras?" Grantaire said immediately, incredulously. He must have, because otherwise Grantaire wouldn't care.

"Even if you think you know who I ran into, you don't know what happened," Jehan said haughtily.

They stared at each other. Jehan raised an eyebrow.

"Forty five minutes, you tell me what happened with Enjolras, and I'll take care of your breakfast."

After a long-suffering sigh, Jehan nodded. "Fine. I will see you in forty-five minutes." Then he disappeared into his bed again.

As quietly as possible, Grantaire padded out the door. Once in the hallway, he exhaled deeply. He didn't want to go downstairs and face his former classmates. The few encounters he had the night before had been painful enough. All they did was remind them how shallow his old friends were, and how shallow he had been. He had grown up...some. But they hadn't, and for some reason, they still flocked to him, as if his validation of them still meant something. It was exhausting, and made him itch for a strong bottle of something. Last night had been bad enough when everyone was tired from travelling and already drunk when he got there. He had no idea how long he could cope with well-rested, eager people vying for his attention.

Fortunately for him, it seems like most everyone was still sleeping. When he went down to the hotel lobby for breakfast, there were only a few people there, none of whom he recognized. He grabbed a cup of coffee before quickly nabbing a table in the back corner and putting on his headphones. He flicked through his email, quickly grew bored, read the news, quickly got bored, played 2048, quickly got bored but continued playing anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approaching and reluctantly pulled out his headphones. He had promised Jehan to try, after all.

But it wasn't anyone from his school. It was Courfeyrac, who was grinning like it was Christmas.

"Is this seat taken?" he gestured to the one in front of Grantaire.

"My friend is going to be here in like half an hour."

"So I'll get up in half an hour," Courfeyrac lowered himself on the chair. He could barely conceal his eagerness, though he tried. He sipped his coffee in a way that Grantaire could only imagine was meant to be nonchalant, but sputtered as he burned his tongue.

Grantaire felt like he could explode with all the energy focused on him. "Uh..."

"Sooo..." Courfeyrac said, dabbing his chin with a napkin. Apparently they were going to ignore the coffee incident. "You went to school with Enjolras."

"Obviously."

Courfeyrac chuckled, but wasn't about to be deterred. "And you haven't spoken since?"

"Does he talk to anyone from school?"

"But you were closer to him than most people," Courfeyrac said. It wasn't quite a solid statement, and Grantaire could hear the questioning tone Courfeyrac was clearly trying to repress.

"Why don't you ask him?"

He almost felt bad for how quickly Courfeyrac deflated. "I did."

"And?"

"He was tired."

Grantaire snorted. If Enjolras wanted to talk about something, something as mundane as exhaustion wouldn't stop him.

"So ask him again later."

Courfeyrac sighed. “I change my mind about you. I don’t like you.”

“Join the club,” Grantaire said.

“You can’t say that unless you’re actually in the club,” Courfeyrac said.

“I’m the president,” Grantaire grinned cheekily, because he learned long ago that if he said something insulting about himself but it immediately smiled afterwards, it removed most of the bitterness. People only found self-deprecation charming if they thought you were joking.

Courfeyrac squinted at him, like he wasn’t sure if he was serious. He evidentially decided Grantaire was being funny because he said, “Well, I can’t be in the club, because I think I like you again.”

“You’re very fickle.”

“Fuck you, I’m back in the club.”

“You can be on probation. We’ll see how today goes.”

Courfeyrac quickly turned the conversation into a discussion of what they were planning on doing that day. Grantaire wondered if this was a stealth mission, and Courfeyrac were secretly deciding what activities he and Enjolras would be avoiding. Despite the conviction that Courfeyrac must secretly hate him (he was with Enjolras, after all), Grantaire enjoyed his company. He was a fast talker, and sometimes it was like his mouth had a hard time keeping up with his thoughts, because he would stumble over his words, or abruptly start a new sentence in the middle of an old one. He was funny, and he was intelligent, and he at least seemed like a nice person. Grantaire so enjoyed their conversation, he didn’t notice Jehan until he tapped him on the shoulder.

“Making friends already?”

“I’m Courfeyrac,” Courfeyrac supplied, extending his hand.

“Jehan. Did you go to school with Grantaire?” Jehan asked, sliding into the chair next to Grantaire.

“No. I’m here with someone who did. Enjolras.”

“Re-ally?” Jehan’s eyes brightened as he leaned forward. Grantaire didn’t like the excited glint in his eye. “I have so many questions.”

“You’ve heard of him?” Courfeyrac’s eyes flicked to Grantaire.

“Oh, yes. I follow Boston politics very closely,” Jehan said innocently. “And I met him last night.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Grantaire said like he hadn’t been waiting forty five minutes for details. “You said you were going to tell me about it.”

“And you said you would take care of breakfast,” Jehan batted his eyelashes sweetly. “Where is Enjolras, anyway?”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “Making the rest of us look bad and going for a run. A _run_. This is supposed to be vacation but no, he’s out and going on a run.”

“I think he’s done,” Jehan said.

Grantaire and Courfeyrac followed Jehan’s gaze to the door where Enjolras had just come in. He stopped to the side of the main doors, and busied himself with taking out his earbuds and wrapping them up. He wore incredibly flattering shorts that frankly should be outlawed, and a white t-shirt that was almost see-through. Then he did the worst thing he could possibly do: he reached up and stretched. His shirt rode up, revealing a few inches of his well-defined stomach before he abruptly leaned over to touch his toes. His post-run ritual should also be outlawed, Grantaire decided. 

"Hey Enjolras!" Courfeyrac called out and waved. 

Enjolras looked up instantly at the sound of his voice. As soon as he saw Courfeyrac, a smile started to spread, but it stopped abruptly when he saw who Courfeyrac was sitting with. Still, he couldn't pretend not to see them, so he stalked over. 

"Why did you do that?" Grantaire hissed. 

Courfeyrac shrugged. Grantaire wasn't sure if he liked Courfeyrac anymore. He steeled himself for what was about to come. Normally if Enjolras was pissed off because of him, Grantaire did it on purpose and knew it was coming. He hadn't expected to see Enjolras at breakfast. But the expected blow didn't come, because Dahlia, Grantaire’s ex, had waylaid Enjolras. It was obvious, even from twenty feet away that she was attempting to flirt with Enjolras, who somehow managed to look disinterested and horrified at the same time. 

Enjolras smiled tightly at Dahlia and tried to move past her, no doubt giving a polite dismissal. Dahlia seemed reluctant to let him go, because he only made it a few feet before she reached out and touched his arm as she continued to chat him up. Enjolras looked furious at something she said.

"Excuse me, but my sexuality is _not_ a phase!" he snapped. 

"Of fuck," Courfeyrac groaned. "He is not going to get us kicked out of a hotel. Not again."

He scurried off. Once he reached Enjolras, he wrapped his arms around him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Dahlia quickly took the hint, but not before blatantly checking Enjolras and Courfeyrac out. Grantaire knew Dahlia well enough to know she was probably plotting how to seduce both of them.

Courfeyrac was still wrapped around Enjolras like a koala when they returned to the table. They seemed so comfortable with each other, and Grantaire felt a stab of jealousy he had no right to feel.

“I need to take a shower,” Enjolras said, and Courfeyrac finally released him.

“I’ll go with you,” Courfeyrac said, dramatically waggling his eyebrows.

“Please don’t,” Enjolras snapped. Then, rather unconvincingly, “Sweetie.”

Grantaire suddenly felt bad. Apparently Enjolras still hated him so much, that by merely sitting with him, Courfeyrac had pissed him off. He hadn’t spoken to Enjolras in a decade, and he was already causing problems between Enjolras and his boyfriend.

“Okay, my darling snookum,” Courfeyrac said loudly. “I shall just get sweets for my sweet. And by that sweets I mean healthy breakfast food, because let’s face it, you’re probably at risk for scurvy.”

“I don’t need to eat.”

“Au contraire, my petite croissant. Now go get that sexy ass in the shower, boo. Bae. Honey bun.”

“Christ,” Enjolras grumbled. He nodded at Jehan, before fleeing the lobby.

Courfeyrac laughed loudly, then disappeared to raid the breakfast buffet.

“They’re an…interesting couple,” Grantaire said.

Jehan scoffed.

“They seem to balance each other well,” Grantaire continued.

The pitying look Jehan gave him made Grantaire feel like he was missing something.

 

**2003**

The next day at school – the last day before spring break-  no one noticed Grantaire was wearing Enjolras’s beanie. He thought it would be obvious. It struck him that maybe people didn’t pay much attention to Enjolras (unless they wanted to torment him in some way). They certainly didn’t pay enough attention to him enough to remember a hat he had only worn a few times. It made no sense to Grantaire, because it also occurred to him that he was having an increasingly difficult time _not_ thinking about Enjolras.

He didn’t get a chance to talk to Enjolras before they left for break. He saw him the normal amount in classes, but as usual, they didn’t speak. Sometimes Grantaire wondered why Enjolras, who spoke his mind about everything, didn’t call him out for ignoring him during the day but seeking out his company when no one else would know. Sometimes he almost wished Enjolras would. But of course he didn’t, because he was protecting Grantaire from Grantaire’s friends. Because he was wonderful and Grantaire was a coward.

After classes ended, Grantaire leaned against the building, dreading the walk home. It was still chilly outside, despite his new hat. It was then, as he tugged the hat securely over his curls that he caught sight of Enjolras climbing into a car. Their eyes locked. Enjolras’s flickered up to the beanie, and he gave Grantaire a small grin. Then he shut the door and was gone.

Grantaire found he didn’t mind the walk home as much when all he could think of was Enjolras’s smile.


	5. Chapter 5

**2003**

It was the last week of school, and Enjolras still managed to land himself in detention. He hadn't even done anything. One of his classmates hit his math teacher with a spitball, and Enjolras was punished. It was unfair, really, since spitballs were hardly his style, but maybe his math teacher was punishing him for old time's sake. 

When he got to detention, he wasn't at all surprised to see a familiar figure practically sprawled across three desks. 

"What the hell did you do to end up in here?" Enjolras said, begrudgingly impressed. "It's practically impossible to get detention during the last week of school."

"You managed easily enough," Grantaire replied.

"That's because I'm special," Enjolras said. It sounded less paranoid than, 'the teachers have it out for me', no matter how true it might be.

"Yes, you are," Grantaire said. His voice was surprisingly soft. But when he leapt to his feet and said loudly, "Don't tell me you brought a book again, nerd," Enjolras was sure he had imagined it.

"And what if I did?" Enjolras raised an eyebrow defiantly.

Grantaire grinned. "I wouldn't expect anything else. But too bad, because I brought cards."

Enjolras made a show of rolling his eyes, even though he enjoyed whatever insane card game Grantaire introduced this time. He was half convinced Grantaire made up the games as he went along, but he didn't really mind. They sat on the floor, cross-legged. Grantaire dealt, as usual. Enjolras had once half-heartedly complained this consistently gave him the edge. But when Grantaire handed him the cards with a smirk and told him he could deal, he realized he liked watching Grantaire show off with all his fancy tricks, and he never brought it up again.

Eventually the conversation turned to what classes they would be taking the next year. It seemed that they would have significantly fewer classes together than they did this year, sharing only a government course.

“Well,” Grantaire said. “At least we’ll have detention.”

Enjolras bit his lip, debating whether or not he should say anything. They were having such a pleasant afternoon. He didn’t want to ruin the mood. Unfortunately, Grantaire noticed.

“What’s wrong?” He nudged his knee. “Enjolras. Tell me.”

Enjolras sighed heavily. “It’s just….I don’t intend to get any detentions next year.”

Grantaire scoffed. “Like you intended to get them this year?”

That stung a little. After all, Enjolras had tried very hard not to piss people off. It just hadn’t worked very well.

“I’ve managed to cut down a lot, I’ll have you know,” Enjolras said indignantly. “Anyway, new school year, new teachers. If I lie low over the summer, hopefully they’ll forget I’m supposed to be an upstart.”

Grantaire snorted. “Have you been called an upstart?”

“I’ve been called a lot worse.”

They fell into silence as Grantaire dealt another hand of cards. “So you really mean it?”

Enjolras sighed. “I mean, obviously it’s not just up to me, but yes. I’m going to try my hardest. Myriel’s even letting me volunteer in the school offices over the summer so I can put the experience on my resume, and have the teachers get to know me a little, so hopefully they won’t all hate me come fall. The less detentions, the better it’ll be, obviously for my college applications. Myriel thinks it’s a good thing I’m showing such improvement.”

Grantaire frowned. “Why are you so obsessed with getting into these stupid snobby colleges? Surely you of all people know how much discrimination there is in the collegiate system. And anyway, you’re not one to do what everyone expects of you.”

“No one  _expects_  me to get into a good college,” Enjolras said with a small but defiant lift of his chin.

“Why do you even care?”

“We’ve talked about this,” The warning in Enjolras’s voice was clear. “If I want to make changes, real changes in the real world, I need to have the right weapons. A solid education is one of the best weapons there is.”

“It never stops being funny how you think you’ll actually make change.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Enjolras? Point out your delusions?”

“Don’t ruin today,” Enjolras said, throwing his cards down. He hopped to his feet, reached into his bag and got his book out. He retreated to the farthest corner of the room, and buried himself in the words. He was practically shaking with anger. He had dreams, dreams he had held since he could remember, and he knew what he had to do to reach them. And part of it unfortunately it meant giving up his afternoons with Grantaire, who really was his only friend at school. It was ridiculous, and it was almost over, because Enjolras wasn’t important enough to Grantaire to risk his reputation by actually being friends with him. It sucked, but this was probably one of the last times they would get to spend time together like this, uninhibited and happy. And Grantaire had to go and antagonize him.

Enjolras heard shuffling feet move towards him, but he refused to look up. 

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said quietly.

Enjolras flipped a page. A hand covered the crease of the book. Enjolras finally met Grantaire’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You’re right. Can you just…please put down the book. I’ll be nice. I promise.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He felt a small, vindictive stab of joy at the hurt look that crossed Grantaire’s face.

“Because I care,” Grantaire said. The unsaid ‘about you’ hung over them.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Enjolras replied, jerking his book away from Grantaire.

Grantaire crouched in front of Enjolras. “Enjolras. Come on. I said I’m sorry, okay.” When Enjolras ignored him still, he outright whined. “ _Enjolraaas_. I promise. Pinky promise.”

He held out his pinky in mock solemnity, and raised his eye expectantly. Despite his fake seriousness, there was a hopeful glint in his eye so earnest that Enjolras relented and locked their little fingers together. He looked up at Grantaire to see if this satisfied him, but Grantaire was staring at their fingers. Enjolras cleared his throat, and Grantaire let their hands fall back to their respective sides.

“Cards?”

“Fine,” Enjolras slid down to the floor across from Grantaire once more, who smiled as he dealt them a new hand.

The rest of the detention passed relatively quickly. Too quickly. They had five minutes left. Except-

“Alright boys,” Ms. Simplice said, returning from the break room.  When it was just Enjolras and Grantaire in detention, she usually wandered off to get coffee and gossip, trusting them after having developed something of a soft spot for them. “You can go a few minutes early. It’s almost vacation.”

Enjolras and Grantaire looked at her in surprise. She gave them a rare and tiny smile.

“I’m not completely heartless. Just don’t let Mr. Javert catch you roaming the halls.”

The boys murmured their thanks, grabbed their things and left. They walked side by side in the hall in silence. When they reached the end of the hallway, Enjolras realized they were about to go their separate ways.

“Hey, wait,” he said. Grantaire looked surprised but obliged. Enjolras don’t know what he had intended to say or do. But he ended up fumbling with his notebook and a pen. He ripped out a page and handed it to Grantaire. “Here.”

Grantaire stared at it blankly.

“It’s my phone number,” Enjolras said, suddenly feeling nervous. “I thought, maybe over the summer, if you’re bored, we could meet up, in the city.”

“Meet up,” Grantaire repeated. Enjolras tried not to frown. They had hung out in the city before – there was less of a chance of anyone seeing them there. He thought perhaps Grantaire wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with him if they would just be seen by strangers. Evidently not. That distant day before spring break was just a one-off.

“Or we could just talk,” Enjolras said. “If you wanted to.”

“Yeah. That’s be nice,” Grantaire folded the paper in half and stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

 

**2014**

 

Enjolras slammed the door behind him, almost hitting Courfeyrac in the face. 

"Calm down," Courfeyrac caught the door and gently closed it.

"Why were you even talked to him?" Enjolras snapped. 

Courfeyrac sighed. "I was curious. He seemed normal, but you’re acting like he’s the anti-Christ, and you don't want to talk about him and I wanted to see what the big deal is. That's it. I was curious, and that was wrong of me and I'm sorry."

Enjolras glared at him. Courfeyrac put his hands up in a sign of surrender and took a step back. He knew Enjolras well enough by now to know when Enjolras needed space.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Enjolras gritted out, snatching up a clean pair of pants and a shirt.

He paused at the door. Courfeyrac was slumped on his bed, looking dejected. Enjolras sighed. He knew Courfeyrac hadn’t meant to upset him this much.

"It's okay," Enjolras said quietly. Courfeyrac looked up at him, surprised so quickly. "I mean, it's not _okay_ , but I accept your apology. I don't like that you did it, but I understand. Anyway, you’re an adult and you’re at perfect liberty to talk to talk to whoever you like.”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “The only person at this stupid thing I really care about is you, okay, you dork? I’m sorry my curiosity got the better of me.”

“Curiosity killed the Courf,” Enjolras said, trying to muster up a menacing look, but failing when Courfeyrac burst into laughter.

“That’s awful. Go take your shower, you dork.”

Enjolras did, the hot water and smell of soap relieving a lot of tension from his body. By the time he toweled off, he felt much better. He finally was relaxed, so of course as soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, Courfeyrac accosted him.  

"I have something that'll make you feel better," Courfeyrac said, grabbing Enjolras and manhandling him to his bed and throwing him down in front of an open laptop.

"Courfeyrac, what-"

"Well hello there."

Enjolras blinked. On his screen were three video chat windows: the smallest one, in the corner showed himself, looking startled. In another was Feuilly and Bahorel, waving enthusiastically, with Marius sandwiched between them on their couch. And in the last one, Combeferre was polishing his glasses in what appeared to be a stairwell.

“Courfeyrac woke us up,” Bahorel yawned.

“It’s nine.” Combeferre sounded amused.

“It’s a _Saturday_.”

“Why are _you_ here?” Enjolras frowned at Combeferre’s image, feeling secretly touched Combeferre was taking time out of his busy and important weekend to talk to him.

Combeferre looked amused. “You know we can’t tell who you’re looking at, right? I assume you mean me. And my conference hasn’t started yet.”

“And you’re in the-”

“Stairwell before I have to go down, yes,” Combeferre said. “Surprisingly, it has the best wifi in the hotel. Now hurry up and tell us what’s going on. I don’t have long.”

“Well, nothing’s happened yet,” Enjolras didn’t want to talk about Grantaire, because then he would have to _keep_ talking about him, because his lovely, wonderful friends were also busy bodys and would badger Enjolras for updates so they could make sure he was okay for the rest of the weekend. To his credit, Courfeyrac said nothing. “We’re going to go to one of the group activities in a bit.”

“We can’t be the antisocial weirdos who hide in our rooms until Myriel gets here,” Courfeyrac said. “Besides, we’re right on the beach. It’ll be good.”

“How did your clothes go over?” Bahorel asked eagerly.

“They’re clothes, Bahorel,” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“He has turned countless heads. That’s a lie. I counted. It was at least a dozen last night alone. I even heard a ‘fuck’, a two-syllable ‘damn’ and a ‘god _damn_ ’.” Courfeyrac rattled off.

“I’m so proud.”

“Back off, Bahorel,” Courfeyrac wrapped an arm around Enjolras’s waist. “We have just declared our love before the world for all to see.”

“This girl from my class was hitting on me and Courfeyrac pretended to be my boyfriend,” Enjolras said, turning slightly red.

Feuilly clapped. “Congrats, Coufeyrac. You snagged Cute Butt.”

“Oh for- you guys _actually_ call me that?”

Silence.

“If it makes you feel better,” Bahorel said, tugging at the hem of his shirt before pulling it up over his head and discarding it entirely. “My codename is Abs. We objectify equally in this group.”

“Was a physical demonstration necessary?” Feuilly asked, amused as a beet-faced Marius leaned as far away as possible from Bahorel.

“Focus, children,” Combeferre said, looking at his watch. “Are you two going to keep up the charade?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras said blankly.

“You might as well,” Feuilly said. “Otherwise that girl might hit on you again. And it’ll keep other people from cozying up too. Unless you want that.”

Enjolras decidedly did not.

“It’s up to you,” Courfeyrac said.

“I can handle one or two people hitting on me,” Enjolras said.

Bahorel snorted. “Once you put on the leather jacket I bought you, it’ll be more than one or two.”

Enjolras bit his lip. He was sure Bahorel was exaggerating, but still, it might be nice to avoid any awkward flirtatious encounters. One had been more than enough. He supposed he could take advantage of Courfeyrac’s offer. On one condition.

“No pet names.”

“Sorry, my scrumptious macaron, but pet names are my price for being your fake boyfriend.”

“Right then,” Combeferre glanced at his watch again. “I really should get going. Don’t do anything stupid. See you later, Cute Butt.”

Enjolras had never felt more betrayed in his life.

 

**2003**

Enjolras enjoyed summer vacation. Not for the same reasons his peers did, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. He had researched colleges to apply to in the fall with programs he wanted, he was able to spend more time developing action plans for some local issues, volunteer, and had made a significant dent in his reading lists for both school and fun. The highlight of his summer for sure was when his dad took the family to DC while Congress was wrapping up. Enjolras had managed to sneak away and join an actual protest on Capitol Hill. It had absolutely been worth the half-hearted lecture from his parents, who were angry he had snuck off, but a little proud he was so civically involved. To top it all off, he had just found out Myriel had successfully petitioned for Enjolras to switch from his current government class to an independent study, which would allow him to take it as an AP class under Myriel’s supervision instead.

Despite all the contentedness he felt, sometimes, the glimmer of a thought nagged at him. It occurred to him, vaguely, that he wasn't doing summer vacation the way other students did. It was a passing thought that would gnaw at him, and never really developed for two reasons. One, he didn't really care what people his age were doing. And two, he didn't really have personal experience to know any better. But there were moments, when he went to restaurants with his parents and saw people his age laughing together, or when he went to the store to buy clothes and saw kids from his school hanging out, that he wondered if he was missing something.

Today had another one of those moments. He was in the bookstore, minding his own business, when he heard talk and laughter. He felt a sudden pang of loneliness. Then he realized who the voices belonged to- Brujon, Claquesous, and Dahlia.

“Why did you drag us here again?” Brujon asked, sounding annoyed.

“I have to do the summer reading, or Daddy said he would take away my car,” Dahlia said, her pout audible from Enjolras’s position in the back.

He retreated upstairs and tucked himself away in the political science corner, figuring even if his classmates also ventured upstairs, there was very little chance of them going to this particular corner. It wasn’t that he was afraid of them, and he wasn’t one to back down from a fight. But he was on break, and this didn’t have to be a fight. He was sure most of his senior year would be war, so he figured he deserved one quiet afternoon in a bookstore.

He stilled when he heard a familiar drawl.

"Can you hurry up and get your books so we can go? Some of us have other things to do.”

Grantaire. Enjolras mind went abuzz, a thousand thoughts battling for his attention. He hadn’t seen or heard from Grantaire since the school year ended. Realistically, he hadn’t expected Grantaire to call, but that didn’t completely get rid of the sting of rejection he felt. He was suddenly glad he had relocated himself.

“What kind of things?” Dahlia’s tone was laced with barely concealed awe. The more vague Grantaire was, the cooler everyone seemed to think him.

“Just stuff,” Grantaire said. Enjolras could practically hear him shrug as he said it.

He fiddled with the cover of his book. It wasn’t any of his business. He had just convinced himself of this when he heard footsteps came up the stairs. Enjolras quickly pulled his book up and immersed himself in it. He heard the footsteps come closer, closer, then they stopped. He didn't raise his eyes, not even when the floorboard creaked. He could sense Grantaire there, hovering, but he still didn't look up. Grantaire hadn't called, so he clearly didn't want to talk to Enjolras. Enjolras wanted to give him a chance to run and hide.

"Hey."

Enjolras looked up. Grantaire was looking at him, almost nervously.

“Hey,” he echoed.

A look of relief passed over Grantaire’s face, and he joined Enjolras on the floor, their knees bumping as he settled next to him.

“So how’s your summer going?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras scoffed and turned away. If Grantaire was actually curious, he could have called all summer, or made any effort to seek Enjolras out, but he hadn’t.

“Are you mad because I didn’t call?” Grantaire said. “Because I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“But I am,” Grantaire said earnestly. “It’s just complicated.”

“Look, if you don’t want to be my friend, it’s fine.” It wasn’t actually, but Enjolras wasn’t about to admit that. “It’s just some consistency would be nice.”

“I’m consistently inconsistent,” Grantaire said, flashing a smile that was probably supposed to be charming.

“My summer is fine,” Enjolras said finally. “You?”

“Same old, same old.”

“What are you doing later?” Enjolras asked, nodding towards the stairs.

Grantaire leaned closer to him conspiratorially. “Going home and doing nothing. My parents will be gone, so I can be completely by myself.”

Enjolras laughed, surprised. He wondered why Grantaire was so worried about creating such a carefully constructed image of himself for the benefit of his friends, who he didn’t seem to like all the much. But he knew better than to ask.

“Don’t you have to get your summer reading books too?” Enjolras asked.

“Like I’m going to do the summer reading,” Grantaire scoffed.

Enjolras just raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. I already did it. But don’t tell anyone.”

“You’re humiliating secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you. I know you think it’s stupid, but thank you,” Grantaire exhaled. “So what’d you think of the government reading? I assume you’ve done it already.”

Enjolras bit his lip. “About government….”

“You didn’t do it?” Grantaire grinned. “Slacker.”

“I’m not taking that class anymore.”

Grantaire’s smile fell. “What? But we were going to take it…together.”

“I know. But Myriel managed to convince the school board to give me permission to take an independent study so I could take it as an AP class instead. It’s a really good opportunity.”

“Of course,” Grantaire said. “It’s not like we would really be able to talk or anything in class anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said. He was, even if Grantaire wasn’t. They wouldn’t see each other anymore, and that was that.

“Hey Grantaire?” It was Claquesous from the foot of the stairs. “Dahlia got her books, we’re leaving.”

“Be right there.” Grantaire stood up, looking at Enjolras with an expression Enjolras couldn’t quite fathom. “Have a good rest of the summer, yeah?”

“You too.”

“I’ll see you around.”

Enjolras laughed, because it wasn’t true, and Grantaire must know it. But he was looking at Enjolras, and he realized Grantaire looked _determined_.

“Sure, Grantaire. See you.”

The words tasted false in his mouth, but it was nice to pretend, even if just for a little while.

 

**2014**

“What’s on the itinerary today?” Enjolras asked.

“Do you want to go on a lighthouse tour?”

Enjolras scrunched his nose. He usually liked going to historic or cultural sites, but the idea of going on what would undoubtedly be a loud, crowded tour was unappealing to say the least.

“Plan B then. There are some shuttle buses that will take us to this nature trail. It’s supposed to have an amazing view at the top, on these hills overlooking the ocean.”

Enjolras hummed.

“There’s a picnic at the end of it,” Courfeyrac said. “So if there’s anyone you want to talk to-”

“There won’t be.”

“ _If_ there’s anyone you want to talk to, you can, but since we’ll basically be on the beach it’s not like it’ll be hard to escape. And free food.”

“We paid to come to the stupid reunion, so technically nothing is free,” Enjolras said huffily. But, “Fine.”

They didn’t have to wait long for the shuttle van, which pulled up right outside the hotel.

“Last shuttle of the morning going that way,” the driver said.

“Sounds like we almost missed it,” Courfeyrac said, clambering into the back seat.

“And what a tragedy that would have been,” Enjolras replied dryly.

The driver glanced at his watch, grimaced, and hurried back to the front. He started the engine. Enjolras buckled in his seatbelt just when there was a banging on the van. He glanced out the window and saw Jehan and Grantaire waving at the driver. The driver sighed, unlocked the door, and waited just long enough for the two men to hop in before speeding off, muttering about how late he already was. Enjolras looked suspiciously at Courfeyrac. This had all the trademarks of a Courfeyrac convoluted plan.

But Courfeyrac made a sound like a strangled cat. At this point, Grantaire and Jehan turned around, realizing they weren’t the only passengers in the car.

“Hi!” Jehan said.

“I thought you were going antiquing,” Courfeyrac said to Grantaire.

“I thought you were going lighthousing,” Grantaire said, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Enjolras vetoed it.”

“Jehan has an antiquing addiction he said I’m not allowed to enable.”

“I have like six vintage coffee tables,” Jehan said unabashedly. He was the only one who looked positively delighted by this turn of events. “Three trunks and two wardrobes.”

“I guess we’re all going to the picnic,” Enjolras said, terse. There was no use in trying to get the driver to stop or turn around. They were adults. He could deal with a short car ride to the trail. And the hike. And the picnic. He held back a sigh. This afternoon was going to suck.

 

**2003**

 

Enjolras ducked into the main school office, ready to start his independent study.

“Goooood afternoon. Do you have an appointment?”

Grantaire grinned at him. Enjolras blinked.

“You can’t sit there,” he said dumbly, registering slowly that Grantaire was sitting at a desk. “That’s for the office student aide.”

“Correct.”

Ms. Magnon, the school administrative assistant handed Grantaire a stack of letters “Grantaire, would you mind sorting through these?”

“Sure thing.”

Enjolras stared. “You’re the student aide? But…you were in government this period.”

“So were you,” Grantaire said.

“How did you even manage to get this position? _Everyone_ wants to be an aide and you didn’t even sign up on time.”

Grantaire merely shrugged. “You should probably go in, Mr. Independent Study. Myriel’s waiting for you.”

Enjolras cast one last look at him, before heading in. He could hardly believe Grantaire was there, but at the same time, deep down, he really wasn’t surprised at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com/) so come say hi and talk to me about stuff.


	6. Chapter 6

**2003**

 

Never in a million years would Grantaire let Enjolras know the trouble he had gone through to get the office aide position. Office aide was a highly coveted position that almost all the seniors tried to get. It was minimum work – just copying, filing, maybe assembling packets- and usually there was a lot of leftover free time. It looked good on your resume. It gave you an opportunity to get closer to the teachers, do favors for them, and essentially butter them up so they’d write you a really good recommendation letter for college applications. There was also the added bonus of being in the office, where a lot of drama happened. You’d find out what student got in trouble for what, or other juicy tidbits not generally made public knowledge.

Grantaire didn’t really care about any of that. He just wanted an excuse to hang out with Enjolras every day. He had been counting on their government class, but this was even better. They could sit around and do nothing but talk to each other, without Grantaire having to worry about their peers watching them.

Okay, so technically Grantaire was supposed to be aiding, and Enjolras doing independent study/being mentored by Principal Myriel. But Enjolras was a diligent student with no social life, so he usually had most of his work done before his study period, and Principal Myriel was a busy man who had a school to run, so that meant a lot of times Enjolras was left alone with not a whole lot to do. And Grantaire….well, the teachers learned that if they wanted something done quickly and correctly, they should just wait until another period for when one of the other office aids was on duty.

Grantaire swiveled around as dramatically as he could in his chair when he heard the door open. He could recognize Enjolras’s footsteps approaching the hall, discernible even over the scores of other students who shuffled past.

“Cutting it close, Mr. Enjolras,” Grantaire said sternly, pointing at the bell, which rung just as Enjolras closed the door.

Enjolras slid into his seat just as the last toll sounded out. “Still on time though,” he said, grinning cheekily.

“Just don’t let it happen again.”

“What, me being on time?”

Grantaire wagged his finger at Enjolras. “I’m watching you, young man.”

When it became apparent that Principal Myriel was tied up doing his other administrative duties, Enjolras hopped up from his desk and went over to Grantaire’s.

“You know, being student aid doesn’t give you any authority over your fellow students.”

“Au contraire,” Grantaire said. “I should give you detention for such blatant disrespect.”

“Only if you assign yourself detention too,” Enjolras said, with a small smile. “For old time’s sake.”

They stayed like that for a minute, just grinning at each other fondly, when Ms. Myriel, the school receptionist and Principal Myriel’s sister bustled in. Enjolras backed away from Grantaire’s desk guiltily and returned to his own. Because while he more than likely had finished all his coursework, and could afford to goof off, Grantaire hadn’t even touched any of his aid work.

 “Grantaire, can you help me assemble these parent night packets?” Ms. Myriel asked, pushing in a literal cart of papers be sorted and stapled together.

The thing about Ms. Myriel was she was so incredibly sweet, everyone found it impossible to refuse her anything. She was really good at being a kindly old lady, so much so that Grantaire wondered if she had ever been anything else.

“Sure, Ms. Myriel,” Grantaire said, smiling at her. Even though he made a point to never smile at any adult figures of authority.

“Bless you, dear,” Ms. Myriel said, shuffling back to the reception room, undoubtedly to charm more students into behaving.

Grantaire suppressed a groan. This would take him all period to finish. He got to work, assembling the packets when he heard the clink of a stapler. He turned and saw Enjolras at his side, helping him. Before he could open his mouth and say thank you, Enjolras began doing what Enjolras did best: talking.

“Did you see the trailer for the last  _Lord of the Rings_ movie?”

“Didn’t think you would be into it,” Grantaire said, handing Enjolras another stack to staple. “It is called  _Return of the King_.”

“While I would be in favor of Middle Earth reforming their political system-”

“I bet you would.”

“-the classic struggle of good versus evil, and overlooked members of society coming together to make a difference are stories I like to see.” Enjolras paused as he stapled again. “Plus the battle sequences looked really cool.”

Grantaire grinned, deciding he would give Enjolras another minute of happy ranting before he tried to rile him up. Despite having to actually do manual labor, it seemed Principal Myriel was completely wrapped up in meetings for the day, so he would get Enjolras all to himself. The period would fly by.

 

**2014**

 

It was the longest bus ride Grantaire ever experienced. Enjolras didn’t say anything mean to him, or even glare at him. Instead, he completely immersed himself in his conversation with Courfeyrac and seemed content to pretend Grantaire didn’t exist. Jehan snuggled up next to Grantaire, resting his head on Grantaire’s broad shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Jehan whispered. “He’ll come around.”

Grantaire grimaced in response. He doubted it. Jehan elbowed him.

“He will. He’s a good person. He’s just…stubborn.”

Grantaire wanted to ask Jehan how he knew that, based on his limited interactions with Enjolras. But he didn’t question Jehan when it came to reading people. Jehan had met Grantaire when he was at his absolute worst, and had apparently seen something in him worth befriending. Grantaire had to believe Jehan was right about that, so maybe he was right about Enjolras. He was half right, anyway. Enjolras  _was_ stubborn. So although Grantaire might not particularly deserve it, maybe Jehan was also right about Enjolras coming around.

“Hey Enjolras,” Jehan said, turning to look behind him. “I found your group’s website. Les Amis? I was reading up on some of the work you do. I thought it was great.”

Enjolras was forced to look up. No one could be rude to Jehan. “Thank you,” he said slowly, like he was sensing a trap.

Jehan just beamed, and turned to Enjolras. Within minutes, he had drawn Enjolras from his sullen shell, and had him chattering happily about Les Amis’ past initiatives. He had just got Enjolras excitedly telling him about his job at Boston city government and his work with Mayor Valjean.

“You know,” Jehan said, “Grantaire is actually really interested in politics too.”

Grantaire had been busy surfing the internet on his phone, but he froze when he heard his name. Jehan was smiling encouragingly at him, but Enjolras was suddenly stiff.

“Yes,” Enjolras said. “I’ve seen some of his work. The cartoons he did during Mayor Valjean’s reelection campaign were especially….interesting.”

Fuck. Grantaire fought to keep his expression neutral. “Didn’t realize you were a fan.”

“That’s one word for it,” Enjolras said coolly. “Actually, all this talk of Les Amis reminded me I have to send a quick email to our members.”

And with that, Enjolras disappeared behind his phone again. Courfeyrac looked bewildered at this turn of events.

“Yes,” he said loudly. “We must get that important email out. Right now. It’s important. Nothing’s weird.”

Then he scooted closer to Enjolras, trying to read his screen over his shoulder. Grantaire sighed and looked at Jehan, who shrugged helplessly.

“Sorry,” he mouthed.

Grantaire just leaned his head against the window, and moodily watched the trees fly past. He had no idea Enjolras was aware of his job. He was an artist, making money from exhibitions, galleries, illustrating books, but mostly, he made his money from the political cartoons he sold to various websites, magazines, and newspapers. He was fairly-well known, having gained recognition over the past few years.

He was a little surprised that Enjolras hadn’t said something earlier. That he hadn’t immediately thrown some verbal diatribe at Grantaire and had instead waited for Jehan to bring up a connection between Grantaire and politics. But then, he realized with sinking feeling, that Enjolras didn’t say anything because Grantaire wasn’t worth the effort of Enjolras chastising him. To Enjolras, Grantaire was a lost cause that even he didn’t have time to try and do something about. And Grantaire realized with a jolt that indifference stung worse than pure hatred.

He was a little surprised that Enjolras figured out he was a political cartoonist. Of course, most people in politics knew of Grantaire – his works were popular enough, especially with the youth vote that serious politicians made sure they followed his work. But he signed all his stuff as “R”. And yes, that had been his nickname when he was in high school, it wasn’t one that Enjolras had ever called him. And it was just a letter. There were a million other people who could easily be R. Enjolras must have also recognized Grantaire’s style, which was probably the most surprising thing of all. Grantaire never would have imagined Enjolras would remember that.

 

**2003**

 

“Grantaire, did you do this?”

Enjolras held up his government essay, fighting off a smile, and doing his best to look mad.

“No, you did. That’s your name on it. See? Right there.”

“Not the essay,” Enjolras said. “The drawing in the corner. The one of Thomas Jefferson getting in a fistfight with Abigail Adams.”

“I would never,” Grantaire grinned.

“I don’t think Myriel will appreciate it,” Enjolras said reproachfully.

“Then he has terrible taste. Don’t worry, Enjolras. Myriel’s seen your stick figure drawings. He’ll know you didn’t draw it.”

“Just…next time don’t do it on my homework,” Enjolras said stiffly. Grantaire saluted, drawing another tiny smile from Enjolras.

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

Enjolras squinted suspiciously at Grantaire, before going into Myriel’s office, undoubtedly to dazzle Myriel with his latest government homework. He really was thriving under Myriel’s tutelage, Grantaire realized with a pang. The better Enjolras did, the more Grantaire realized the chasm between them was widening. Grantaire wasn’t brave enough to truly be friends with Enjolras, and Enjolras was slowly but surely becoming more brilliant, more accomplished, and then someone would snatch him away to a university with similarly brilliant and accomplished students.

Grantaire was a coward. He couldn’t be selfish too. So as much as he wanted to hoard Enjolras’s company for as long as possible, he would just have to watch Enjolras climb to new heights and try to be happy for him.  And maybe in the meantime, he could coax a few more smiles out from him.

He swiped a notebook from Enjolras’s backpack and started another doodle.

 

**2014**

 

When the bus ride from hell finally ended, Grantaire practically shot out of his seat. He couldn’t take another second of the stifling shuttle bus. Jehan took his sweet time climbing out though, and Grantaire was going to have words with him later.

“Come  _on_ ,” he hissed.

“I need to retie my shoe,” Jehan said sweetly. It was only when Enjolras and Courfeyrac got out of the shuttle bus and Jehan stood up that Grantaire remembered Jehan was wearing Velcro shoes. It was just as well, because otherwise Grantaire would be sorely tempted to strangle him with his shoelaces.

Jehan paid no mind to the glare Grantaire aimed at him (which was kind of offensive, because really, it was an impressive glare), and instead looped Grantaire’s arm with his own.

“So, did you get the email sent out?” Jehan asked Enjolras, who had given all indication of being ready to speed ahead.

Enjolras paused, and Grantaire could see the second when he resigned himself to walking with them.

“I did.”

“Ah yes. The email. The super important email,” Courfeyrac said, slinging an arm around Enjolras’s shoulder. “So do we know how long the walk is to the picnic? I’m famished.”

“Shouldn’t be too long. I think it’s just over that hill,” Jehan chirped back. Apparently he and Courfeyrac had gone to the same acting class that specialized in ignoring an awkward situation by being relentlessly chipper.

When they got to the hill, it became apparent that the hill was too steep for them to climb while all tangled up, so Courfeyrac released Enjolras from his stranglehold, and Jehan let go of Grantaire’s arm and each of the men started the climb alone. Grantaire, who prided himself on his fairly good physical condition, felt his thighs start burning, and he thought that surely there must be an easier way to the picnic than up this terrible hill.

For a few minutes, it was fine. They were all too focused on their individual progress for there to be any awkwardness. But of course, nothing good could last, and it was Courfeyrac who broke the silence.

 “Wasp!” he shouted. “Wasps. Plural. Plural wasps!”

What happened next happened quickly. Enjolras, who Grantaire remembered with a jolt, was highly allergic to any insect stings, leapt backwards from where Courfeyrac found the first wasp. He stumbled backwards, and in an effort to straighten himself up, somehow twisted his body around and ended up tumbling down the hill, face-first. When he finally came to a stop, it was with a gentle thud as he hit his head against a protruding rock.

Courfeyrac was the first to reach him. “Enjolras?” he said, gently turning him over.

Enjolras groaned, and tried to sit up, but Courfeyrac stopped him from doing it too suddenly. He put his arm on Enjolras’s back and slowly eased him up. Enjolras was awkwardly half-sitting, half being cradled by Courfeyrac when Jehan and Grantaire reached them. Enjolras glared at them while Courfeyrac panicked. There was a stream of blood trickling from Enjolras’s forehead that he seemed supremely unconcerned with.

“Damnit. There’s no phone signal!” Courfeyrac said.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras said, trying to wriggle free from Courfeyrac’s arms, but Courfeyrac tightened his grip. “Can we just finish the hike and get to the stupid picnic already?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jehan said. “Not until you get that looked at.”

This only annoyed Enjolras more. “I’m fine,” he repeated firmly, wiping away some blood before it could drip in his eye.

Courfeyrac let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Fine. He’s fine, he says.”

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire could believe that. Enjolras had always been rather cavalier about his own physical state. “You’ve seen me like this before. You’ve seen me  _worse_.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m used to it, or that I like it,” Courfeyrac said, his voice rising. “And I always have Combeferre there to help and tell me things are going to be okay, but he’s not here, so I don’t know if things are going to be okay or not. Jesus, Enjolras, you might have a concussion. You could have brain damage. You could be  _dying_  because you have a fucking  _head injury_. You could-”

“Calm down,” Grantaire said loudly. Enjolras was getting upset. Not over the dire possibilities Courfeyrac just laid out– of course not, the complete moron. He was upset because Courfeyrac was working himself into a hysterical frenzy.

Jehan smoothly took over. “Courfeyrac, come down to the bottom of the hill with me. We had cell phone reception there, we’ll call for help. Grantaire can look after Enjolras. He got certified in first aid, so he can handle this until we get someone else to help.”

Courfeyrac hesitated. Enjolras didn’t seem too keen on the arrangement, but he nodded at him.

“It’s fine, Courfeyrac,” he said, probably realizing the wisdom of letting Courfeyrac go and calm down.

Once Courfeyrac released him, Enjolras sat up on his own, and shot Grantaire a look practically daring him to cradle him as Courfeyrac had done. Grantaire inched forward, to examine the wound, but kept himself at arm’s length.

“Are you sure you can take care of him?” Courfeyrac asked, even as Jehan was shepherding him down the hill.

“I promise,” Grantaire said.

Courfeyrac took in a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. We’re going. We’re calling for help. I’ll be back,” he said to Enjolras.

“You better.”

Jehan interrupted the moment by swearing loudly.

“Are you okay?” Grantaire asked.

“There’s a path just over there,” Jehan said, pointing to a pathway that now seemed obvious. “We could have just climbed that.”

Grantaire sighed. “Just go call for help.”

Jehan nodded, and tossed Grantaire a tissue pack before ushering Courfeyrac downhill. Grantaire sighed and fished out a couple tissues, hoping they would help. He scooted even closer to Enjolras, and to his relief, wasn’t rebuffed. It should be familiar territory for them. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had to patch up Enjolras.

 

**2003**

“Holy shit. What happened to you?” Grantaire jumped up from his seat as soon as he saw Enjolras.

“Tripped,” Enjolras said loudly. Grantaire guessed that the transparent excuse was more for the kindly Ms. Myriel, who cast a concerned look at the blond. Enjolras’s attempt at a smile came off as more of a grimace.

“Nurse,” she said firmly.

“It’s just a tiny cut,” Enjolras said, wiping a stream of blood from his cheek.

Grantaire wanted to grab him by his shoulders and shake him. It wasn’t just the gash on his cheek. It was also the way he was nursing his shoulder like it had been slammed into something. It way the way that Enjolras wouldn’t quite meet his eye.

“Nurse,” Ms. Myriel repeated again.

“If I go to the nurse, he’ll call my mom, and she’ll just worry,” Enjolras said. “ _Please._ I’m fine.”

“I’ll get some antiseptic,” Grantaire said, jumping up. “I took first aid training over the summer.”

Apparently this was good enough, because nothing else was said, even if Ms. Myriel was still staring at Enjolras concernedly when Grantaire came back with a first aid kit.

“I’ll write you a pass to get out of gym today,” Ms. Myriel was telling Enjolras.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said gruffly. Grantaire imagined that if it were any other student, Ms. Myriel would have forced him to go to the nurse, but Ms. Myriel, like her brother seemed to have taken a shine to Enjolras, and there probably wasn’t much that he couldn’t get away with.

“Sit,” Grantaire said, shoving Enjolras in a chair. Because yeah, okay, the Myriels weren’t the only ones who had developed a soft spot for Enjolras, but Grantaire was much better at hiding it, and there was no way he was going to let that asshole think coming into the office with blood dripping down his face was in any way acceptable.

He ripped open a bag to get out a cotton ball, and doused it with antiseptic. Without any warning, he applied it to the gash on Enjolras’s cheek. Enjolras hissed.

“Quiet, you big baby,” Grantaire said. He dabbed a little more to make sure he had gotten the whole cut. “What  _really_  happened?”

Enjolras shrugged, then immediately winced. Apparently he had forgotten about his injured shoulder.

“Some of the upperclassmen were picking on some freshmen.”

“And you saw fit to intervene?”

Enjolras didn’t respond. He just watched Grantaire curiously as he worked on trying to get rid of the blood on Enjolras’s face. Despite how upset he was at Enjolras for his typical recklessness, Grantaire made sure to be as gentle as he could. Of course that meant it took longer to completely clean Enjolras’s face, so Grantaire was stuck at this awkward close proximity with Enjolras examining him.

“Well,” Grantaire said to break the silence. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“If I don’t intervene, who will?”

“Does anyone intervene on  _your_  behalf?”

“You do.”

Grantaire stilled. “I do what I can. But I can’t always look out for you, you know.”

“I know,” Enjolras’s hand found Grantaire’s, and he squeezed. “And I appreciate it. All I’m trying to do is the same: what I can.”

“What you should do,” Grantaire said, freeing his hand, which suddenly felt tingly. “Is keep your head down. People already look for excuses to pick a fight with you. You don’t need to stick your neck out for some kids you don’t know. They need to learn to fight their own battles.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Maybe not. But I  _do_ think you need to take care of yourself more. I don’t want to have to clean you up on a regular basis.”

Enjolras was staring again. “I didn’t ask you to. I’ll never ask you to.”

His face was clean now, save a faint pink line running across his cheek. Grantaire sighed and rubbed some ointment on.

“I know you won’t ask me to piece you together after a fight, but…we’re…you know…” he trailed off awkwardly, not sure what the word was for their relationship. “I just want to help.”

“Do you mean that?”

Grantaire nodded. “Of course.”

“Because I wanted to ask you a favor,” Enjolras said, biting his bottom lip nervously. “But I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it.”

“Shoot.”

Enjolras reached into his backpack and pulled out a folder which he, after a second of hesitation handed to Grantaire. “Would you read this? It’s my college admissions essay. I wanted to get someone to read it over, and I really wanted your opinion.”

There was a pleasant swooping sensation in Grantaire’s stomach as he took the folder. To be trusted with something so important to Enjolras filled him with pride. “You know I’ll probably mock it relentlessly.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” Enjolras paused. “Please? I really value your insight and I think I’d be too nervous to send it in if I didn’t get a second pair of eyes on it.”

Grantaire shoved aside the stack of papers he had been pretending to file for the past four days and grabbed a red pen. He also shoved a band aid at Enjolras. “Put that on. I’m grabbing you an icepack, then I’ll read your essay.”

Enjolras smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Grantaire. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And the funny thing was, Grantaire wasn’t sure what he would do without Enjolras. Which is why he wished Enjolras weren’t such a martyr and would keep his nose out of other people’s fights. Who would piece Enjolras back together when he got in trouble at college?

 

**2014**

 

“Here,” Grantaire said, dabbing at Enjolras’s forehead with the tissues.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras snapped, and wow, he hadn’t changed at all since senior year.

“I promised your boyfriend I’d take care of you,” Grantaire said firmly. “He was worried.”

Enjolras sighed. “He’s an idiot like that. It’s a head wound. Head wounds always bleed a lot.”

“They also frequently lead to concussions.”

Enjolras snatched the tissues and pressed them against his forehead himself. Grantaire’s eyes flickered down to Enjolras’s cheek. There was no sign of that cut he received all those years ago. Of course, the cut had been superficial. But that afternoon, when Grantaire had tended to him, when Enjolras valued his opinions had been so monumental to Grantaire, that he had almost expected there to be a lingering reminder, perhaps a light scar. But there was nothing. Enjolras’s cheek was pale and smooth and perfect. It almost felt like that afternoon had been erased completely except from Grantaire’s memory.

“I wonder what’s taking Courfeyrac so long,” Enjolras said grumpily.

About ten minutes later, Courfeyrac jogged into view, leading a pair of paramedics. Enjolras frowned deeply at this.

“I don’t need paramedics, Courfeyrac!”

“Unbeliev- what did you think I meant when I said I was getting help?”

“I thought you meant you were calling Combeferre.”

“We aren’t supposed to bother Combeferre this weekend!”

“Except for emergencies.”

“This isn’t an emergency.”

“Ah-ha!” Enjolras triumphantly. “So you admit it isn’t an emergency, therefore the paramedics aren’t necessary.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Courfeyrac shouted. “Okay, I’m going to  _text_ Combeferre. Of course, if I tell him, I have to tell everyone else, because God forbid any of our weirdly codependent friends are left out of the loop. So I’m going to go do that, but  _you_  be a good boy and behave for the paramedics.”

“I didn’t mean for you to call everyone,” Enjolras said, looking alarmed.

“Too late,” Courfeyrac planted a kiss on the top of Enjolras’s head. He was much calmer now that there was someone qualified to look after Enjolras. “They’re being alerted right now.”

And he deftly dodged Enjolras’s attempts to steal his phone before going back down hill to presumably follow through on his threat of alerting Enjolras’s loved ones. It didn’t take long for the medics to determine Enjolras wasn’t suffering a concussion and to patch him up. “You’re all set,” one of the medics said. “But I recommend you take the rest of the day to relax. I’d sit the picnic out.”

“Done,” Enjolras said eagerly.

The medic turned to Grantaire, who was hovering awkwardly just behind them. “Can you make sure he gets some rest once we get back to the hotel?”

“Uh,” Grantaire tried to ignore the way Enjolras was suddenly glaring at him, like he were somehow responsible for this predicament. “His boyfriend would probably be better suited for the job.”

But when they got to the bottom of the hill, they found Courfeyrac in the middle of an animated conversation on his phone.

“Hold on-” Courfeyrac covered the receiver and turned to Enjolras. “Well?”

“I’ll live,” Enjolras said dryly.

“We’re going to give him a ride back to the hotel,” the medic said. “He’ll be fine, he just should relax for the afternoon. Someone needs to be with him, just for a few hours, to make sure he stays awake. He should be in the clear, but we want someone to keep an eye on him.”

Courfeyrac squirmed guiltily before looking at Grantaire. “Would you mind keeping an eye on him? For like…half an hour?”

“You’re abandoning me? After insisting that I get medical attention?”

“They just said you’ll be fine. And Combeferre said based on your symptoms, he thought you’d be fine.  _And_  Marius is having an emotional crisis,” Courfeyrac said, nodding at his phone.

 “Marius is always having an emotional crisis,” Enjolras grumbled. Grantaire briefly wondered if maybe Marius was a child that Enjolras and Courfeyrac had adopted together, but that wasn’t the point. The point was Courfeyrac was asking him to look after Enjolras.

“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Jehan said.

“Jehan, do you think you could go with them?” Courfeyrac asked. He did look genuinely apologetic.

“Sure,” Jehan replied. Grantaire did not like the calculating look in Jehan’s eye. He didn’t like it one bit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm so sorry for the over six long month gap between updates. I'm trying to be better, but honestly, from like October of last year to now, it has been nonstop in my personal life. Some of it good, some of it bad, some of it awesome...anyway, I'm trying to be more disciplined. 
> 
> Hope you guys liked the chapter! Come say [hi ](http://babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com/) and geek out about Les Mis with me.
> 
> (Also, Enjolras totally wrote LotR fanfic. He might even have been one of the first people to do LotR/Game of Thrones crossover fic. They were not popular, mostly because he focused less on slash pairings and more on government/politics. Courfeyrac on the other hand wrote some really popular racy fics, though they weren't quite as popular or as racy as Combeferre's.)


	7. Chapter 7

**2014**

 

Enjolras spent the entire ride back to the hotel thinking of excuses so he could shake off Grantaire and Jehan. Grantaire seemed just as unhappy with the arrangement as Enjolras was, so getting rid of him would be no problem. It was Jehan who would take some convincing to leave him alone. He liked Jehan, liked him despite the fact that he was Grantaire's friend. But he didn't want to spend time with Grantaire, especially not after making an ass out of himself by tripping down a hill. He felt like an idiot, and he felt weak, and he didn't want Grantaire to see him like this.

"Right," Jehan said as soon as they were in the lobby, before Enjolras could open his mouth. "I have to sort something out with the front desk. Grantaire, why don't you take Enjolras back to his room and keep him company until me or Courfeyrac get back?"

"Or you could go with Enjolras and I could go talk to the front desk."

Jehan waved him off. "You don't know what I need to talk to them about, and it'll take too long to explain. So promise you'll take Enjolras back and hang tight until someone else gets there?"

There was a long pause. But finally, Grantaire said. "Fine. Whatever."

Enjolras held back a sigh. "I suppose it doesn't matter that I'm fine and not in need of a babysitter?"

"You're right, it doesn't matter at all," Jehan said cheerfully.

And with that, Jehan turned to go to the front desk. Enjolras and Grantaire walked in silence to the elevator.

"What floor?" Grantaire asked.

Enjolras reached past him and pushed the button. Grantaire didn't try to talk to him again even as he followed Enjolras out of the elevator and to his door. Enjolras could tell he wanted to say something - there were unspoken words hovering in the air over them, but Enjolras couldn't be bothered to guess what they might be. Instead, he pulled out his room key, and turned abruptly to Grantaire.

"You can just leave me here."

"I promised Jehan I'd stay with you," Grantaire said.

Enjolras had not expected that at all. He thought Grantaire would be happy to be rid of him.

"I'm sure you have better things to do than sit and watch me. And like I said, I don't need to be watched. So..."

Grantaire didn't budge. "I promised Jehan."

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Enjolras debated on whether or not he should just make a break for it, get in his room, and lock Grantaire out, or if that would entirely too childish. But then Grantaire sighed.

"Look. If you really truly would rather risk succumbing to a head wound, then, fine, I'll go. But if not, we'll go inside, we'll sit and I'll make sure you don't pass out or start bleeding again. We don't even have to talk."

For a moment, Enjolras wanted to tell him that yes, succumbing to a head wound would be preferential to another second in Grantaire's company. That he would be fine if his head spontaneously combusted, and that he would in fact prefer his head to catch fire rather than have Grantaire there to put it out.

But he forced himself to stop and see Grantaire not as an asshole teenager, but as a regular person. Enjolras always talked about how humans were basically decent. And so he had to stop looking at Grantaire as a dick, and instead see him as a person who had just witnessed another person hit his head. Wouldn't Enjolras want to make sure someone was okay if he had witnessed them injure themselves in a similar fashion?

"Alright, let's go in," Enjolras said finally. "No talking. We'll put on the TV. And I get to pick the what we're watching."

Grantaire blinked. "Uh, yeah. Okay."

"What did I say about talking?" Enjolras said, just to be obnoxious. Just because he had decided against being a massive dick didn't mean he was going to deprive himself the pleasure of being just a little petulant.

"Sorry," Grantaire mouthed.

It almost got Enjolras to laugh. Something about Grantaire's expression took him years back. For a moment, it felt like they were back in high school, like no time had passed, and like spring semester hadn't happened.

Enjolras forced himself to turn away and head into the room. He wasn't here to fix what was broken between them. He was here to see Mr. Myriel and that was it. What was done was done, and Enjolras had no interest unburying the hatchet.

He flopped onto his bed and turned on the TV. Grantaire hovered uncertainly in the doorway. It was tempting to let him fester there, but Enjolras had decided _not_ to be a dick, so he said, “The couch is pretty comfortable.”

Grantaire shuffled towards it. Courfeyrac’s bed separated Enjolras from the seating area, and he was glad for this convenient barrier. Instead of choosing the comfortable couch though, Grantaire chose the loveseat that faced Enjolras directly.

Enjolras sighed. “You realize I’m not going to pass out, right?”

“And you do realize that people don’t _plan_ on passing out, right?”

Unable to think of anything to say to that, Enjolras scowled, then turned his attention back to the TV. He flipped through a few soap operas before settling on the news. Grantaire snorted.

“What was that?” Enjolras snapped.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You snorted.”

“Sound effects weren’t expressly forbidden,” Grantaire said with a small smirk. And that was just so _like_ him.

“God, you’re impossible! You always-“ Enjolras stopped himself. Because he didn’t know what Grantaire always did. They hadn’t been friends in a decade. “Sound effects are added to the list.”

“Changing the rules halfway through doesn’t seem fair.”

“Tough shit.”

Grantaire let out a surprised bark of laughter, then put his hands up in surrender. Once Grantaire had settled into his seat, Enjolras turned his attention back to the news.

He fumed. He knew why Grantaire had laughed. Because he thought Enjolras’s choice in TV programming was predictable. You have to know someone in order for them to be predictable. _You don’t know me,_ Enjolras wanted to say. But that wasn’t entirely true. The seventeen year old Enjolras that had been friends with Grantaire was still a part of Enjolras, and he hadn’t completely changed.

It wasn’t fair. When you stopped being friends with someone, they shouldn’t get to keep pieces of you. They should have to return all their knowledge of you in a cardboard box. That’s what they did in those romcoms Courfeyrac and Bahorel made him watch. When people broke up, they gave their exes cardboard boxes filled with CDs and clothes and stuffed animals and whatever else their ex had given them. People should do that in real life too, but with friends and memories.

Enjolras was jolted out of his brooding by the news.

“—Tholomyes has just resigned—“

Enjolras gave the TV his full attention.

“—was photographed at the hotel suite rented out by Mr. Thenardier, with several prostitutes, and cocaine. And our sources say that’s just the tip of the iceberg. We’ll update you as the story develops. Pat, back to you.”

For a moment, Enjolras completely forgot Grantaire was in the room with him. His brain was going a million miles an hour. Then Grantaire’s hand was inches from his face, waving slowly.

“Helloooo? Earth to Enjolras? Come on, man, you’re freaking me out. I don’t know what to do if you actually have a concussion.”

Enjolras blinked. Grantaire exhaled with relief.

“Sorry, just…that news report,” Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on from all the work that was about to land in his lap.  Political scandals always meant overtime, no matter whose side the scandal was on. “Tholomyes is one of the Boston City Councilmen. He works with my boss.”

He was a real piece of work too. This scandal had been months in the making. Thenardier was a notorious “businessman”. Really, he was more like a local conman with delusions of grandeur and aspirations to be a mob boss. The problem was Thenardier wasn’t very smart, and his attempts to curry favor with politicians was turning into a massive scandal that just wouldn’t die.

The pictures of Tholomyes had been leaked a few months ago. Everyone knew it was inevitable that he would be out of office, but no one knew if he would bite the bullet and resign in disgrace, or if he would cling to power until that power was stripped from him. Now they had their answer. And now there would be a seat open on City Council. And since Enjolras worked for Mayor Valjean, this would impact his job one way or another.

Enjolras’s phone buzzed. He looked down. Cosette- Valjean’s adopted daughter, and Tholomyes’s biological daughter. (It was….complicated).

He got up and went to the bathroom- he didn’t want Grantaire listening. Enjolras didn’t want to give him any fodder for his political cartoons.

“Hey. How are you holding up?” he asked. He had gotten to know Cosette during Valjean’s reelection campaign, back when Enjolras first started working for him, and they had stayed friends.

“So you _have_ been watching the news. I knew it,” Cosette said. “And my biological father has finally been exposed as the massive creep he is and is getting what’s been coming to him, so I have never been better, thanks for asking.”

“Then why are you calling?” He didn’t mean to be rude, but Cosette calling just as news of this was breaking couldn’t be coincidental.

Cosette paused. “Dad didn’t want anyone contacting you during your weekend off.”

“And you decided to anyway.” That was unlike her. Not that Enjolras minded. It just made him more curious.

“I’m giving you a courtesy head’s up, so you’d better not rat me out.” She took a deep breath. “Your name has been circulating as a candidate to replace Tholomyes.”

That was not what Enjolras had expected. “Me? Hang on, how are they already circulating names? This _just_ happened. I know we’re fast, but this is…above and beyond.”

“Don’t act so shocked.”

“I mean, I knew if he resigned, we would try to identify a viable candidate—”

“There was no need for them to identify a viable candidate. People at City Council have had their eye on you for a while. You’ve done good work. You have a solid reputation, you’re passionate, and it doesn’t hurt that you’re young and photogenic. I’m sure you would have been approached to run next election cycle, only now that there’s going to be an emergency election, they’re going to approach you a bit sooner than originally planned.”

“Are you sure?”

“I was at Dad’s house having brunch when the Tholomyes story broke. His whole team came over and have been locked up in his study ever since.”

“Then how did _you_ hear?” Cosette worked at a local nonprofit, not in government. They wouldn’t have let her anywhere near official business.

“Well they kicked me out, and I had _nothing_ to do to entertain myself but bake. I couldn’t possibly eat all that food by myself so I might have gone in and out a few times to give it to Dad and his team while everything was still hot.”

“You’re diabolical.”

“Anyway, Dad wanted you to have the weekend off, since you have your thing. He didn’t want you to worry about this, but you can bet the opposition is mobilizing and I didn’t want you to get hit with this and then have to play catchup on top of it all.”

“Thank you, Cosette.”

“Again, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“Damn right. And for what it’s worth, you’d be an amazing City Councilman, if you decide to go for it.”

Enjolras smiled as he hung up. When he returned to the main room, he saw Grantaire had changed the channel to some soap opera, which he was watching intently.

“Really?” he said.

“Oh, like this is any more stupid than what we just saw on the news?”

“I thought the agreement was that I got to pick what we watched.”

“You left,” Grantaire gave him a side-long glance. ”Everything okay?”

Enjolras nodded, then sat back on his bed, and tried to remember that Grantaire was using up his own precious weekend to make sure Enjolras wasn’t concussed. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Grantaire waved him off. “I figured it was work related.”

Enjolras hummed noncommittally. Grantaire snorted, but didn’t prod any more. He did however keep the remote. They watched the last five minutes of the soap opera, then Grantaire switched to some cooking show, and somewhere in that time, Enjolras stopped fretting about the potential special election, and found himself thinking Grantaire wasn’t so horrible to spend time with. He had a sort of calming aura about him. Then he started freaking out about _that,_ because he wasn’t supposed to think Grantaire was anything. He had spent years trying to forget about him, and how did that all go away in one weekend. Not even a full weekend. Just a day.

"Knock knock." In came Jehan and, Courfeyrac, the traitorous bastard. They were both carrying Starbucks. Enjolras was going to murder Courfeyrac later.

"How's Marius?" Enjolras asked.

"His emotional crisis is momentarily abated. He met a girl last night. Or, saw a girl. And he's in love."

"Of course he is. Well, I'm glad you talked to him," Enjolras said. Marius was a romantic soul, but also easily agitated.

“Yes, well…” Courfeyrac trailed off awkwardly.

“How are _you,_ Enjolras?” Jehan asked.

“Better, thanks.”

Jehan nodded cheerfully. “We got you this,” he said, handing Enjolras a Starbucks cup. His eyes flickered between Enjolras and Courfeyrac’s beds, and too late, Enjolras remembered that they were pretending to be dating.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said.

Jehan nodded again, and looked back and forth between Grantaire. Enjolras had no idea what he expected either of them to say. Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“O-kay, then. Well, now Courfeyrac can be on concussion watch.”

“I got you coffee to,” Jehan said, handing Grantaire a cup.

“Great. I’ll drink it in our room.”

“But-”

“Bye, guys,” Grantaire said, all but pushing Jehan out the door. “Feel better, Enjolras.”

“We’ll see you later,” Jehan managed to call out before Grantaire gave him one final shove.

“I’m sorry,” Courfeyrac said as soon as the door was shut. “I ran into Jehan in the lobby, and he insisted we get Starbucks as a pick-me-up for you. I wanted to come up as soon as I realized he’d left you alone with Grantaire, but Jehan is like, freakishly persuasive. I wouldn’t have left you alone if I had realized.”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras said.  He couldn’t hold it against Courfeyrac when he himself had witnessed Jehan’s powers of persuasion. “Really. Marius needed you more.”

Courfeyrac sat down on the edge of his bed so he was facing Enjolras. “Look. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I have to ask. What is the deal with you and Grantaire? Jehan knows something, or he wouldn’t try to shove you two together. So clearly-”

“We used to be friends,” Enjolras said shortly. “Me and Grantaire that is.”

“I thought you said you weren’t friends with anyone at your high school.”

“I wasn’t. Not really. I mean, Grantaire and I only spoke when no one else could see us talking. It’s not like we hung out outside of school, but we got along. And I thought he’d have my back if push came to shove. But I was wrong.”

For a moment, Courfeyrac was silent. “Does this have anything to do with the prom?”

“No,” Enjolras said just a little too quickly.

“It does! And that’s why you don’t want to talk to me about it, because you don’t want me feeling guilty!”

“You have nothing to feel guilty about,” Enjolras said firmly. “I don’t want to talk about Grantaire because he’s someone I used to be friends with, and he wasn’t who I thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who I thought he was. Back before we were friendly. I thought he was a jerk, and I guess my first impression was right. Either way, he’s someone from my past that I want to stay there.”

Courfeyrac considered this. “Okay then.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “I do have something else to tell you about what we just saw on the news...”

 

**2003**

 

“So?” Enjolras said eagerly.

“….so?” Grantaire said.

“Did you read it?” Enjolras said, too anxious to say anything sarcastic. “My college admissions essay? Did you read it?”

It had been almost a week since he had given it to Grantaire, and he hadn’t heard anything back. He knew Grantaire wasn’t the most…on top of things, but still, he had been hoping for feedback by now. Grantaire, despite his best efforts to seem otherwise, was incredibly intelligent. He and Enjolras complemented each other, and so he was the perfect person to look over Enjolras’s essay and pick up on anything Enjolras might have missed.

“I did.”

“And?” Enjolras pressed.

Grantaire exhaled. “Well, I thought the first sentence of the second paragraph was a little obvious. And the fifth one? Not your best effort. I know you can do better. But overall? It kicked ass.”

Enjolras let out breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Something was off. Grantaire was refusing to meet his gaze.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.”

“Seriously, nothing,” Grantaire said, shuffling back to his desk.

And oh no, that wouldn’t do. Enjolras reached into the recycling bin, crumpled up the first piece of paper he grabbed, and flung it at Grantaire.

“Are you for real?” Grantaire sputtered.

“There’s a whole recycling bin full of paper here, and I have the rest of the period.”

”You’re meant to be doing independent study.”

“Finished it,” Enjolras said in a sing-song voice. “And next week’s. And half of the week after that.”

He lobbed another piece of paper at Grantaire, who swatted it away. “Why is there so much paper?”

“Well, the office aid is supposed to take the recycling bin down the hall to the trash room, but he’s pretty lazy,” Enjolras said cheerfully.

He reached for a third page, when Grantaire said, “Okay. Enough. It’s stupid.”

Enjolras stilled. “I promise I won’t laugh.”

Grantaire sighed. ”It’s just, I guess, reading that essay… it hit me that you’re going to college. You’re moving away.”

“I might not get in.”

“You will. Unless every single college admissions officer is a complete moron, you will. You’re going to get into some great school, and I guess I’ll probably get into some mediocre one. And then, that’s it. We won’t see each other anymore. You’ll go off and do amazing things, and I’ll become a distant memory.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” Grantaire said sullenly.

Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, Enjolras crossed the room. He tentatively took Grantaire’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Grantaire’s breath hitched, and Enjolras wondered if he had crossed some invisible line, but he was already there, so he might as well see it through.

“Grantaire, that isn’t going to happen. You’re, well…you’re my best friend. I know I’m not yours, but you are mine. As long as you want to be friends, we’ll be friends.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire said.

“Yeah.”

Grantaire squeezed Enjolras’s hand, and something passed between them. Enjolras couldn’t describe it. It was something big, monumental even. For that moment, everything was just as it should be. It frightened him, but he wanted more of this nameless thing.

“Well, I guess I was being dumb,” Grantaire released Enjolras’s hand and stood up. Had he felt it too?

“Where are you going?”

“Taking out the recycling,” Grantaire said with a cheeky grin.

The moment…whatever it was, had passed. Enjolras didn’t know if he should be relieved or not.

“Oh, and Enjolras?”

“Hmm?”

“I know I do a shitty job showing it, but you’re my best friend too.”

 

**2014**

 

Enjolras was regretting not following through on his earlier plan to kill Courfeyrac. They were in one of the hotel’s large private dining rooms for a buffet. But the way people were looking at Enjolras made him feel like _he_ was one of the dishes. And it was all because Courfeyrac said it was a little chilly, and forced Enjolras to wear the leather jacket Bahorel had gotten him.

“They’re all staring at me,” Enjolras hissed.

“Yup,” Courfeyrac said, looking inordinately pleased with himself. “You didn’t think I’d help Bahorel give you a makeover only to have you not wear any of the clothes he bought, did you?”

“I really didn’t give it much thought at all.”

“Well that was your mistake, wasn’t it?” Courfeyrac said cheerfully.

Enjolras could only glare at Courfeyrac once before he was accosted by a woman who he vaguely recognized.

“Hiiiii Enjolras,” she beamed at him.

“Hi.”

“Zephine, remember?”

He did, though hazily. She had been part of the Grantaire’s friend group. She hadn’t been as awful as the rest, but Enjolras was fairly sure she had never spared him a kind word, not even once.

“Right. Zephine.”

Enjolras waited for her to say what she was going to say. Instead, she looped her arm through his, and started walking him to God knows where.

“We’ve barely seen you all day,” Zephine said.

He resisted the urge to retort that she hadn’t seen him in a decade and he hadn’t thought he’d be missed. “Yeah, I thought I’d take it easy today.”

“So _serious_ ,” Zephine said. “This is supposed to be a celebration. Time to catch up with old friends.”

“That’s what we’re planning on doing,” Courfeyrac interjected. “We were supposed to grab a table.”

Zephine gave him a sweeping look, and apparently she liked what she saw, because she smiled at him. “Enjolras, your friend can join us too.”

“Boyfriend.” Enjolras and Courfeyrac said together.

This didn’t deter her. “Yeah, sure. He can join us too.”

“We promised someone else we’d save them a table,” Courfeyrac lied.

Zephine narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

“Um…. Grantaire? And his friend?” Courfeyrac shot Enjolras a look of apology. But Enjolras couldn’t blame him. It was a natural lie to grab for. Grantaire was the only other person there Courfeyrac knew. And Enjolras supposed he would prefer that awkward dinner than spending more time with Zephine. At least in that case, Courfeyrac could be a buffer, whereas with Zephine, Enjolras had a feeling he wouldn’t get a moment’s peace.

“Perfect! He can join us. I’ve barely seen him this entire trip!” Zephine pouted. “He’s being mysterious, I suppose. He always was. That’s part of his appeal.”

Enjolras saw then where Zephine was leading them – a table with Dahlia, and other women that must have been the other members of their clique in high school. Women Enjolras had nothing in common with, and who had at best, treated him with disinterested disdain, and at worst, actively worked to make his high school existence a living hell.

The worst thing was that as they walked, Enjolras could see people sending him appreciative looks, for which he blamed Bahorel, Courfeyrac, and the damn leather jacket. In that order. That meant even if he managed to escape Zephine’s clutches, some other person who hadn’t given him the time of day, or basic compassion in high school was going to corner him to talk to him, what, because his friends gave him a superficial makeover?

“Actually, Zephy,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully. “We haven’t had a chance to get any food, so we’re going to head over to the buffet.”

Zephine looked like she wanted to protest, but Courfeyrac was using his superpower of being so friendly and _nice_ that people didn’t know how to disagree with him.

“Well, don’t be too long,” Zephine said.

“I’m going to kill you,” Enjolras informed Courfeyrac through gritted teeth as they headed over to the buffet table.

“I’ll take responsibility for the jacket,” Courfeyrac said. “But your face and ass are on you. The jacket is just the cherry on top of a very attractive Enjolras-sundae.”

“Don’t refer to me in food terms,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Why not?”

“Because I feel like…people are looking at me like I’m the dessert.”

Courfeyrac burst into laughter. “I’m sorry. I’m mean, you’re not wrong. I didn’t realize people would be this aggressive. It probably didn’t help that you were in upstairs all day, because now you’re _mysterious_.”

He had a point. Enjolras hadn’t kept in touch with anyone (obviously). He didn’t even have a Facebook, so it wasn’t like his former classmates could discreetly stalk him. All he had was a Twitter account, which he used for activism and work purposes, so it probably didn’t contain the juicy tidbits people could hypothetically be looking for. The longer he avoided everyone, the more determined they would be to corner him and figure out how successful he was or wasn’t, and whether they should be jealous of his life now.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to stop trying to avoid them.

“I don’t see Mr. Myriel anywhere,” Enjolras said sourly.

Courfeyrac hummed thoughtfully. “I can try and talk to the front desk and see if they know anything. I’ll talk to them after dinner.”

“Would you mind trying now?” Enjolras said. “If he’s not showing up at dinner tonight, I’ll pretend I was concussed and beg off.” He wasn’t in the mood to socialize.

“You got it, boss,” Courfeyrac said. He clocked Zephine watching them, and plastered a huge kiss on Enjolras’s cheek. “Get some food, because you haven’t eaten enough today and Combeferre will kill me if you die of malnutrition. You just have to fend everyone off for like 10 minutes. I believe in you.”

It turned out that Courfeyrac’s faith was misplaced, because he was gone not ten _seconds_ before a small swarm of women and even one or two men, all with the same determined glint in their eye descended.

 _Abort_ , Enjolras thought frantically. _Abort._

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he declared loudly, before heading in that general direction. Fortunately, no one followed him.

It was then that he spotted a stairwell. After checking that no one was watching, he made his hasty escape.

And of _-fucking-_ course, Grantaire was there, sitting in the stairwell, looking just as surprised to see Enjolras as Enjolras was to see him.

**2003**

 

It was a Friday and there was a pep rally. Most students were ecstatic, but Enjolras would have preferred to attend his regular classes. He had no desire to be packed into the crowded gym so he could cheer on student athletes who bullied him, as they talked about a sport he didn’t care about. (Football? He was pretty sure it was football. But it was almost winter, so maybe…basketball?)

So he didn’t go. In one of his first acts of (purposeful) rebellion since Mr. Myriel took him under his wing, Enjolras skipped the pep rally. He felt he deserved this. He had finally finished handing in all his college essays, and was on top of most of his classes. Surely he would be forgiven for his skipping, just this once.

He waited until all the students spilled out into the halls, being herded into the gym, when he made his escape. He ducked into the waiting area outside Mr.Myriel’s office. The office staff, with the possible exception of Ms. Myriel to man the front, would all be gone. And since she would be at the front desk, she probably wouldn’t check all the way in the back offices, which was where Enjolras was currently stowed away.

He waited until he heard the stampede of students’ footsteps in the hallway outside fade before he allowed himself to breathe. He pulled out his father’s copy of _Newsweek_ that he had borrowed, and settled onto the couch that was just outside Mr. Myriel’s office.

He had just started reading the cover story, when the doorknob rattled. Enjolras froze. Had Mr. Myriel forgotten something? He would be so disappointed in Enjolras, and his lack of school spirit. The door swung open, and instead of Mr. Myriel, it was Grantaire.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Grantaire was the first to spring into action. He snorted as he shut the door.

“You scared me!” Enjolras said.

“Sorry. I didn’t know anyone else would be here. I didn’t want to use the front entrance because, you know…”

“Ms. Myriel.”

Grantaire nodded. He plopped on the couch next to Enjolras. “I’m surprised to see you here though.”

“Are you?”

“Not really,” Grantaire laughed. “You’re a rebel at heart.”

“I’m not,” Enjolras protested. “It’s just…a _pep rally_.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.”

“So why are you here? You have a car, don’t you? You could probably have gone home and no one would be the wiser.”

“I thought you might be here. Or, I hoped you would, anyway.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said softly.

If Grantaire noticed his tone, he didn’t comment on it. He fished around in his coat pocket until he produced a pack of playing cards. He held them up, and raised his eyebrows. Enjolras nodded.

When Ms. Myriel did venture back there, over an hour later, she shook her head at them, but couldn’t repress her fond smile, so Enjolras considered his decision to skip the pep rally a very good one. One of his better ideas for sure.

 

**2014**

 

“What are you doing here?” Enjolras said before he could stop himself.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Enjolras frowned. “Why are _you_ hiding? Those are your friends out there.”

The laugh Grantaire let out was hollow. “Friends. Yeah. Sure. Look, I haven’t talked to any of those people since right after we graduated.”

“Oh.” That surprised Enjolras. He had assumed Grantaire would have kept in touch with his fan club.

“Yeah,” Grantaire rubbed his eyes. He looked tired. Exhausted even.

Enjolras’s phone buzzed. A text from Courfeyrac, telling him that according to the front desk, Mr. Myriel had exhausted himself during the excursions, and had gone to his room early to rest up before the next day, where they would host a fancy dinner in his honor. According to Courfeyrac’s intel, Mr. Myriel ordered room service, indicating that he would be in for the evening. Enjolras wondered how Courfeyrac had managed to charm this information out of the front desk girl.

He tapped out a quick reply that maybe they should copy Mr. Myriel and order room service before turning his attention back to Grantaire. He looked miserable. It suddenly occurred to Enjolras that he wasn’t the only one who had dreaded coming this weekend. He wondered why Grantaire had come, and what unfinished business he had, or what demons he had come to bury.

Enjolras’s instinct was to rejoin Courfeyrac upstairs. But something stopped him. Grantaire had been kind this afternoon. He had given up part of his day to look after Enjolras out of basic human kindness, and only a little coercion from Jehan. Surely Enjolras could repay him the same courtesy.

“Listen,” Enjolras said, sounding awkward even to himself. “It’s been a long day, and it was really crowded back there. I was thinking of clearing my head and taking a walk on the beach.” Grantaire stared at him, like he was wondering what this information could possibly have to do with him. So Enjolras felt compelled to add, “You’re welcome to come with me. If you want.”

Grantaire kept staring at him, like he was a grotesque puzzle he couldn’t solve. Enjolras felt heat rise to his cheeks. Well, he had offered. That must count. He turned to go, when Grantaire finally spoke.

“Sure. That…would actually be nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey guys. Long time no update. It's only been.... *looks at calendar* oh, fuck, like over 2 years. 
> 
> To those of you who have been following this story and are still here, thank you, and bless you. Sorry it's been forever. I don't want to get too into personal details, but I was pretty depressed, and I'm only now looking back like, oh, shit, is that was that was? Plus on top of that, I've switched jobs a few times, moved across the country, and have somehow made friends and have a social life? Anyway, I don't want to bog anyone down with personal details, I just felt like I owed you all an explanation after all this time. 
> 
> So again, to people who have been following this, I'm so sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience. It won't be another 2 years for the next update. I'll try to have another update within a year, just to keep all our expectations realistic.
> 
> To new readers, hello! Welcome! 
> 
> Also, I am [here](http://babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com/), so come say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Vampire Weekend's 'Unbelievers'. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Questions, comments and criticism are always welcome. 
> 
> Come say [hi](http://babesatthebarricade.tumblr.com/)


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